


The Adventures of Holmes and Valentine

by kaelma



Series: Holmes in the Commonwealth [2]
Category: Fallout 4, Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Addiction recovery, Canon-Typical Violence, Crossover, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Developing Relationship, Diary/Journal, Domestic Fluff, Drug Addiction, Drug Use, Family, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV First Person, Plot, Post-Blind Betrayal, References to Depression, Slow Burn, it's gonna take forever to justify that m/m rating, post-endgame politics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-02
Updated: 2018-08-27
Packaged: 2019-05-01 07:18:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 25
Words: 37,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14515239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaelma/pseuds/kaelma
Summary: “At this rate, we’re going to have to put your name up on signs for the Agency.”I scoffed, “I’m an accessory to your work.”“Stop that. You’re always there when I need ya. As far as I’m concerned, that makes you one hell of a partner.”“Thank you,” I said, “but I haven’t the slightest interest in seeing my name done up in neon.”My friend laughed. “The sign might be an eyesore, but it sure brings in business.”Unfortunately, I had no counter argument.





	1. Diamond City's Latest Resident

I was previously in the habit of keeping a journal of sorts, but stopped after the Institute was destroyed. It does provide some small relief and comfort to record my thoughts again. This old notebook I found might serve as a journal.

I came to Diamond City to go into business with Mr. Valentine. He was instrumental in helping me discover the whereabouts of my son, stolen from the Vault, and then remained by my side through the destruction of the Institute. I was a detective before the War, and only too happy to reclaim that life again. I still maintain my position within the Minutemen, but I am hardly needed to run every aspect of the army constantly. They know where to find me, and when Radio Freedom calls I will answer. Even had Valentine not offered, I may have come to Diamond City at some point, simply out of consideration for my son, Shaun. The combination of safety, a school, and other children, is not easily found above ground.

Shaun stayed in Sanctuary while Valentine and I came to Diamond City to see if a housing permit could be secured. We arrived to the sight of a small crowd gathered around a wounded man at the bottom of the ramp leading to the Mayor’s office elevator. It was Danny Sullivan, on the day he discovered Mayor McDonough was an agent of the Institute. I immediately administered a stimpak, and Mr. Sullivan explained he’d seen an older model synth talking to the Mayor. With the destruction of the Institute, the synth must have already been in the field and was finishing its assignment. The Institute had been dissatisfied with McDonough’s performance as Mayor, in no small part thanks to a certain persistent reporter spreading rumors that he was a synth. How ironic that he should receive word of his forced retirement a couple days after the destruction of his employers. Given that the Institute could have teleported a synth directly to him, and chose not to, only demonstrates how little regard they had for their agent. Regardless of all this speculation, Danny saw the synth talking to the Mayor, and the Mayor saw Danny.

McDonough shot Danny and took his own secretary, Geneva, hostage. Valentine and I found Piper Wright pounding on his door, with little success. Fortunately, I quickly located the button that controlled the door’s security. Once inside, I convinced McDonough to let Geneva go, but he was still armed, and desperate. He demanded he be allowed out of the city. It was my intention to bring him in a bit bruised but alive to stand trial. Alas, that was not to be the case. He began shooting, and we defended ourselves. While I’m sure not many will mourn his passing, we now have no way of knowing how much, if any, sabotage he may have committed while in power.

McDonough dealt with, I made sure Geneva was alright. She was shaken, but otherwise fine. After a few hours, she was back at her desk. Someone has to run the town until a new Mayor is elected, I suppose. She thanked me for saving her life and sold me a house, in one breath. She is nothing if not efficient.

The next few days consisted of cleaning and furnishing the house. I reintroduced myself to Valentine’s secretary at the agency. Ellie was pleased to see I’d accepted the offer she had originally made back when Valentine and I first met. I wonder how long she’s been trying to get him to take on a partner.

All that remained was to bring my son to his new home. Shaun was excited to travel, and we decided to bring along the family robot and the dog… though to be fair, Dogmeat isn’t truly owned by anyone, but for some reason he’s taken a liking to me, and apparently my son. The five of us must have made a strange sight on the road. We came across some mole rats and mongrels, but thankfully the trip was otherwise uneventful.

And so, here we are. We’ll see if a new life, a new home, can be made in this brave new world.


	2. The Confidence Problem

The day started with a visit to Diamond City’s schoolhouse. Most of my son’s life up to now was spent underground. To him, the surface world is a strange, fascinating, and sometimes terrifying place. I sympathize, though his view is much more naive and optimistic than mine was when I stepped out of the Vault. Though his education may be more specialized than his classmates, sending him to school every day will enable him to socialize with other children and learn about the world he now lives in. We met the teacher, Mr. Zwicky, and his robot assistant, Miss Edna. Miss Edna was delighted with Shaun’s grasp of arithmetic and welcomed him to the class.

I decided to spend the rest of the morning exploring the town, desiring to become acquainted with every inch of it. It has always been important to me that I know my surroundings inside and out. After an enlightening conversation on the history of Diamond City’s wall, and hiring the local homeless to work for me, I went in search of food and drink. What I found was the Dugout Inn.

I expected it to be a vaguely baseball themed dive bar, and that’s exactly what it is. However, I can’t deny it has some sort of charm for all that. I’ve been in worse places, certainly, both now and before the War. What I did not expect was to see the bartender, a solid man of vaguely Eastern European ancestry with accent to match, animatedly talking to a film noir detective.

“Nicky! I’m glad you’re here. I’ve got new batch of moonshine I’m not sure is, uh, ripened yet -”

“You mean ‘unfit for human consumption.’”

“Yes, this is bingo. Help your friend, Vadim.”

Valentine sighed, “Vadim, we’ve been through this. I’m not going to be your guinea pig… again.”

“Guinea pig, Valentine?” I asked.

If he was surprised to see me, he didn’t show it. “Just the man I’ve been looking for. Vadim, meet –”

“Ah, you are him!” the bartender exclaimed, “The one who took care of McDonough, and Nicky’s new partner, yes? With McDonough gone, maybe I run for mayor one day? You know, I was once king of entire country. All women.”

Keeping track of the conversation with this man was going to be a challenge. “This is your bar?”

“Damn straight it is. I am Vadim Bobrov. My brother Yefim and I make the best moonshine in the entire Commonwealth. We call it Bobrov’s Best. Had to start renting out rooms just so customers had a place to safely pass out after drinking it!” He laughed.

I glanced at Valentine, bemused. “The beer tastes like warm spit,” Valentine said with some fondness, “but you’ll be hard pressed to find a friendlier place for a drink.”

“So it seems,” I nodded as I looked around. “It’s quieter than I expected.”

“Quiet!” I had clearly triggered a sore spot with the proprietor. “Of course is quiet. Let me ask. What do you think of Diamond City Radio?”

“Oh, here we go,” another man who was clearly Vadim’s twin brother walked over, broom in his hands.

“Quiet, Yefim. All right, you. Tell me. Diamond City Radio – It’s terrible, yes? Makes you want to cut your own ears off?”

“I wouldn’t have described it quite that way,” I said, “but Mr. Miles is… difficult, to listen to, yes.”

The Bobrov brothers consider Travis Miles to be a good friend. Vadim had taken it upon himself to concoct a plan to help his friend gain some much-needed confidence. As Yefim, sensibly, thought the plan was ludicrous, Vadim turned to me for assistance.

“Ever been in bar fight?”

I was skeptical. “This is your plan? To make Travis fight?”

“It makes sense, I promise. I have… contacts. People I can count on. Real tough looking, but they will take dive for money. They confront Travis here at Dugout. You step in and give him push he needs to stand up to them. Then you and Travis take them down, nothing gets too rough, and Travis has something he can feel good about. Simple, right?”

I sighed and asked the question I seem to have been asking constantly ever since I got out of the Vault. “Why involve me in all this?”

“You have seen Travis, yes? He cannot fight alone, not even fake one. He needs help. You can help him.”

It did not actually answer my question, but apparently there was nothing for it. “Very well. When is this fight going to happen?”

“Ha, I knew I could count on you! I have everything ready by 6 o'clock. Travis should be here by then. You show up, and it will go well. Promise.”

“This is the worst plan I’ve ever heard, and I don’t know how or why I agreed to it,” I said as we left.

“Vadim’s personality is very forceful,” Valentine said.

“Is that supposed to be comforting?”

“Not particularly.”

“Why were you here at all? You said you were looking for me?”

“Wanted to ask how things are going with you and Shaun. Big adjustment, you being a new parent. Hell, the kid’s in a new world.”

“Everything is fine, Valentine. It is… awkward, sometimes, but Shaun is remarkably patient.”

“Good to hear.”

“You didn’t come looking for me just to ask about my adjustment to fatherhood.”

“No, though that was at the top of the list. Thought you might care to take a crack at an old case of mine, but that can wait til we get this business with Travis taken care of. Leave it to Vadim to think of something like this.”

At six o’clock, we returned to the Dugout Inn. Travis was going to be in a fight tonight whether I helped him or not, so I may as well make sure the poor man wasn’t killed. We entered just in time to see two thugs start harassing Travis.

“L… Look, I don’t want any trouble,” Travis stammered.

“Aww, what’s wrong,” one of the thugs jeered. “Not so tough once you’re not on the air?”

It was a laughable insult considering how timid the DJ’s on-air voice was, but it had the intended effect. “Can’t you… just leave me alone?”

I decided it was time to intervene. “Hello.” Not my best entrance, but I was putting minimal effort into this whole endeavor. “Is everything alright, here?”

Travis was bewildered. “Does it look alright? Because… no, it’s not.”

I suggested he stand up to them, an idea which was met with wide eyed terror, until Valentine quipped, “Ya got spunk, kid, that’s all that matters.”

I decided to never permit Valentine to make fun of my vocabulary, but it seemed to be enough for the DJ. The thug laughed at Travis's pitiable attempt at defending himself until Travis finally got angry enough to shout, and the fight was on. It had been some time since I’d been in a bar fight. The last occasion had been on a case in a small town where a young woman with a fondness for cycling was being harassed by her employer’s business associate… but I digress. My point is that I rather enjoyed the chance to fight someone without worrying that they were going to try to kill me. It also revealed my boxing skills are in terrible need of practice, but more than sufficient for the purpose of the evening.

Travis, I was pleased to discover, handled himself surprisingly well. The two men quit once it was clear we would not be an easy handful of caps, leaving Travis and I minorly bruised and victorious.

Travis was shocked. “Woah… I… I can’t believe it. We did it!”

I couldn’t help but smile at his excitement. “How do you feel?”

“I don’t know… I mean, wow. I never thought I could do… well, anything like that! That was crazy! …Wow.” The excitement suddenly dropped, his smile remaining, but the energy sapped. “Hey, listen. I, uhh… Thanks. That was, well, it was really something. I think maybe I should go lie down now.” And he was gone.

“Not bad,” Valentine said from where he leaned against the wall.

“Enjoy the show?”

“As a matter of fact. Been ages since I’ve seen anyone fight by Marquess of Queensbury rules.”

“Ha! It was hardly Queensbury, but I see your point.”

“I think that went well!” Vadim boomed as he came out from behind the bar. “Ready for next part of fool-proof plan?”

I was alarmed. “Next part?”

The next part of Vadim’s plan involved convincing the Dugout Inn’s sole waitress, Scarlett, to talk to Travis. Vadim was convinced they have a mutual attraction for each other, but neither was willing to say anything about it. As he couldn’t tell her himself, being her employer, he turned to me.

“You don’t have to come along,” I said to Valentine as we stepped outside.

He lit a cigarette and offered me the pack. “And miss all the fun? Besides, if this crazy scheme actually works, you’ll have done Travis a real favor.”

We found Scarlett taking a break by the Wall. It turned out Vadim was right, she was just as nervous about talking to Travis as he likely was about talking to her. The difference was that Scarlett is a fully functional person despite her nerves. Indeed, it wasn’t hard to simply give her a metaphorical push in the direction of the radio station. We watched her go in, and I shook my head.

“After all this nonsense, I will gladly take whatever cold case you throw at me. I am desperate for some task which involves actual thought.”

“Back to give Vadim the good news?”

“After this cigarette.”

It took longer than that. We started talking about the residents of the city, I wanted to see if my deductions concerning those I had met earlier in the day were true. I don’t expect the reader to believe me, but before the War, I could tell a person’s occupation by the callous on their thumb, or a smudge on the cuff of their sleeve. Now all those little trifles must be completely relearned.

By the time we returned to the Dugout Inn, Vadim was no longer there. Yefim, however, was in a terrible state. “You’ve got to help,” he hurried over to us as soon as he saw us, “I can’t do it… you’ve got to help me!”

“What’s happened?” I asked.

“They took him! They took Vadim! Those men, the ones that messed with Travis. They came back. Said Vadim owed them money, that they had a deal. He wouldn’t pay, and they grabbed him and said they’d make him pay… and then they just dragged him out! You have to do something. Please tell me you can do something!”

“Calm down, Yefim. Do you know where they took him?”

“No, I don’t know! He’s the one that has always dealt with them, I’ve tried to avoid them. Travis might know. He and Vadim are friends, Travis hears things… please, just bring him back. He’s an idiot, but he’s my brother. I don’t want anything to happen to him.”

“I’ll bring him back. Valentine?”

“Right behind you.”

I decided not to waste time on social niceties such as knocking and went straight inside the radio station. “Travis, Vadim was kidnapped from the Dugout by the men you fought tonight, and Yefim thought you might know where they took him.”

Travis stared at me, “What? That’s… that’s not a funny joke. Like, at all.”

“I’m not joking.”

“Wait… really? Oh man. Is this… This is because of what happened, isn’t it? It’s my fault.”

“No, Travis,” I sighed, “this is between Vadim and those men. It’s not your fault.”

“But if I hadn’t gotten into that fight with them, maybe this wouldn’t have happened.”

“Don’t beat yourself up, kid,” Valentine drawled, “You saw how things turned out last time someone tried to.”

Travis was quiet a moment. “Look… I don’t really… I mean, I don’t have a lot of friends. If Vadim is missing, or in trouble or whatever… Then I’m going to help get him back.”

I was surprised. “It’s going to be dangerous.”

“I know that. I… I’ve heard enough to know they’re probably holed up at the old Beantown Brewery. We’ve gotta go in there, show them we mean business, and… and then we can bring Vadim back and everything will be ok. Right?”

It was an oversimplification, but essentially true. “Right.”

“Ok. I’ll… I’ll get a gun and I’ll meet you there. We’ll settle this.”

I returned home, let Codsworth know I would be out late, grabbed my pistol and put on a few pieces of armor. I didn’t expect it to be necessary, but better to be safe than dead.

“Are you and Dad going to help someone?” I heard Shaun ask Valentine downstairs.

“That’s right. I’ll be sure he comes home safe, don’t worry.”

“That’s good. But you have to be careful, too.”

Valentine was surprised, but pleased. “Don’t worry about an old synth like me, kid.”

“Shaun, listen to Codsworth, he’s in charge while I’m gone,” I said as I came downstairs. “Codsworth –”

“I’ll see to it he’s in bed shortly, the dog is fed, the house cleaned, and should anyone even think of foul play against this household, they will have me to deal with,” the robot said with complete confidence.

“… yes, I think that covers everything.” 

Shaun hugged us both goodbye, surprising my friend yet again, and we made our way through the dark streets, headed northwest at a brisk pace.

“He’s used to seeing synths,” Valentine said as we walked.

“Of course. He remembers all three generations of synth as a constant presence in his life, until now. You’re probably a comforting sight, even with your disrepair.”

“Huh.”

Travis was waiting outside the Brewery. Somehow, he’d procured a rifle. I recognized the brewery as the same place I’d cleared out months ago for the settlers nearby. I was relieved; this would be simple. The two thugs from the bar and a few of their friends were in the office overlooking the brewery floor. It was quick work but made quite the impression on the bar owner inside, who may have finally had some sense scared into him.

“Thank you,” Vadim said as I untied him, “I didn’t know if anyone would come. I thought perhaps this is the end. Thank you. You are true friend.”

“You’re an idiot for dealing with these men in the first place,” I scolded. Valentine made an approving noise behind me.

Vadim shrugged, “Fine. Was not smartest move ever. But is all better now. These idiots had caps and chems just lying around… They did not notice when I filled my pockets. You deserve what I took. And Travis… I am surprised to see you here!”

“Hey, Vadim,” Travis smiled, “I’m glad you’re safe.”

“How did you get roped into this?”

“I… I wasn’t forced or anything. I wanted to help.”

“Ha! You are full of surprises, my friend.”

The greatest surprise was yet to come. Once we were outside, Travis looked at me and said, “Man, what a day, huh?”

I confess, I was a bit taken aback. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah. Hey, listen. I wanted to say thanks. This has been… well, it’s been crazy. But I’ve learned a lot. I think.”

“You’ve come real far, pal,” Valentine said, proud. It was an understatement. I may as well have been talking to a different person.

Travis shrugged, “After all this, I think about the things that had me worried so much, and it just seems… silly, you know? Like, was I really that worried about just being on the radio? That’s nothing compared to being beaten up, shot at… I can do so much more. And I need to. Anyway, thanks again. I owe you.” He walked away.

“That,” I said to Valentine, “was a surreal experience.”

So, we returned to Diamond City, and the results speak for themselves.


	3. The Case of the Gilded Grasshopper

There is often a grain of truth to local legends from before the War, and in this part of the country, they can date back all the way to the war for American Independence. Whether it be the inspiration for the Minutemen’s garb and very name, or more recent stories of buried treasure hidden beneath old buildings, plenty of people are willing to go to unwise lengths just in case a legend might be true. Treasure hunting has an odd affect on people, bringing out behaviors one never would have imagined. All too often, they end up dead for it.

It was a quiet morning in the market. I delivered Shaun to school, congratulated Mr. Zwicky and Miss Edna on their recent nuptials, and made my way to the Agency. “Good morning, Valentine. Ellie.”

“Oh good, you’re here,” Ellie stood by the desk where her employer sat, her arms crossed in defiance. “Tell Nick to find out what’s going on with Marty.”

“Ellie,” Valentine groaned, passing a hand over his face.

“Whom?” I asked.

“Marty Bullfinch was Nick’s partner,” Ellie explained. “Emphasis on the ‘was.’”

Valentine stood with a sigh, “Marty and I never exactly saw eye to eye. Mostly because he was usually passed out on the barroom floor.”

Ellie teased, “Oh come on, Nick. Think of the good times.”

“What? When he quit?”

She smiled. “That’s the one I’m thinking of.” 

“Why did you put up with him at all?” I asked.

“He was a decent detective, when he was sober,” Valentine shrugged. “Problem was, those times became increasingly few and far between.”

“Nick got a message from him a little while back,” Ellie said.

“It’s some looney scheme to make off with a statue of a grasshopper or something.” He walked over to the cabinet against the back wall, “Holotape’s with the file over here, since you’re interested.”

I followed, “I never said I was.”

“And yet, you followed me over here,” he smiled a little. “Even if you weren’t, Ellie’s not going to let us leave until we say yes.”

Ellie shrugged, “I just think he must’ve been some kind of desperate to come to us for help after all this time.”

“You’ve got a point,” Valentine reluctantly agreed, and handed me the tape. “The way Marty and I parted wasn’t exactly pleasant, but I still wouldn’t wish any harm on the guy. Have a listen, see what you think.”

A voice eroded by an ocean of whiskey spoke. “Nicky, you old bucket of bolts, it’s Marty. I know it’s been a while, but I came across a little mystery I thought might get your circuits firing. You remember that ugly grasshopper statue on top of Faneuil Hall? Turns out it’s got a note in it. A note, written by the son of one Shem Drowne. I don’t expect that name means anything to you, but the guy was a coppersmith, way back when folks did shit like that. Apparently, this note leads straight to the old guy’s stash. I don’t know what’s in it, but I’d sure like to know if it’s still there. I’m gonna go do a little recon of the hall. If you decide you wanna get the team back together, you let me know.”

“That’s all?” I asked. “Rumor of a five-hundred- year-old coppersmith’s personal fortune.”

“Marty wouldn’t get out of bed for free, so this Shem Drowne character must have had a pretty nice haul hidden away, rumor or not. Heck if I know how Marty heard about the note that’s supposed to lead him to it.”

“Do you intend to find out?”

Valentine chuckled, “I hadn’t, but since you’re going anyway, I may as well join you. Don’t give me that look, you’re bored, Radio Freedom’s quiet, and a bit of treasure hunting will keep you busy. Watch the office, Ellie. Tell anyone who comes looking -”

“I know, Nick. If you see him, tell Marty I say, ‘Hey. Where’s my twenty caps, you old lech?’ Also, ‘Hi.’”

As Faneuil Hall was the only solid indicator we had of Marty’s plans, Faneuil Hall was where we went. The building was once a commercial hub of colonial Massachusetts and played a role in the American Revolution. Now, the proud old structure is overrun with Super Mutants, nets of meat hanging from the railings and lampposts, spikes of metal thrust into the foundation, a fire burning around the destroyed statue in the plaza. The air smelled of smoke and blood.

“Ah, Faneuil Hall,” Valentine said. “Cradle of liberty turned slaughterhouse.”

Four mutants patrolled the premises. The fondness certain Super Mutants have for carrying live explosives does make eliminating them from afar easier, presuming one does not miss the shot. We made our way inside, confirming that the mutants had inhabited the entire building. A pair near the stairs discussed the merits of human flesh. Apparently, we are stringy and tough, but delicious.

With some fighting and a great deal of stealth, we managed to reach the uppermost floors - what remained of them. Upon seeing the door to the roof, Valentine remarked, “Goodness. Did Marty really try and get through all this on his own?” It was impressive, I had to agree.

We stepped out onto the roof and walked along some scaffolding until we saw the copper gilt grasshopper stuck atop a weathervane… and lying a few feet away was the body of a middle aged black-haired man in a dirty black suit, a flask of whiskey in his pocket. Valentine was not surprised. “Guess Death finally laughed back at Marty,” he sighed. “Don’t worry, pal. We’ll close this one out for ya’.”

The ex-detective turned treasure-hunter had been correct; there was indeed a note inside the grasshopper. It was a page of parchment from the middle of the eighteenth century, recording the death and burial of Shem Drowne, and stating “On the banks of the Charles, where forever rests Master Shem, there one can find a life’s worth.” The treasure Mr. Bullfinch had sought was in a graveyard on the Charles River. 

“Are you willing to do a bit of grave robbing?” I asked.

“Not my favorite activity,” Valentine drawled, “but I don’t guess anyone’ll mind too much five hundred years later.”

We found the grave in the Copp’s Hill Burying Ground. Inside the coffin were solid bars of gold, silver, and copper, along with a sword at the skeleton’s side. The edge of the blade ever so faintly glowed green.

“So Shem Drowne was buried with all his treasure,” Valentine muttered as he lit a cigarette, “Guess some people just can’t let go.” Upon seeing me examine the sword, he joked, “Sure, you take the weapon, I get the gold. Works for me.”

I rolled my eyes, and read the note wrapped around the hilt. “‘Fear not. Though Devil’s iron makes this blade, only he who wields can make it wicked.’ A cutlass forged from uranium ore. Fascinating.”

“That’s one word for it. I guess if it’s in your hands, it probably won’t live up to its name.”

“You never know, Valentine, I might abandon detective work and become a swashbuckling treasure hunter with loose morals.”

He laughed, “And one day I’ll win a beauty pageant. Come on, let’s load this stuff up and head on home.”

We returned to the Agency to find Ellie waiting. “Well, look who’s back. How’d things go with Marty?”

“Not great,” said Valentine.

Ellie sighed, “Was he drunk?”

“Dead. Made it all the way through Faneuil Hall, too. Went out like a champ.”

Ellie blinked, startled, then said with a small, melancholy smile, “No foolin’. Our Marty made it through Faneuil Hall. Didn’t think he had it in him.”

“The promise of treasure can be a surprising motivator,” I said.

“I guess so. Well. Good for him.” Ellie turned to me, her smile more playful, “And there’s good news for you, gumshoe. Radio Freedom’s been calling.”

And so tomorrow I leave behind the detective and play the role of General.


	4. Refugees

A Minuteman military checkpoint had some surprising visitors. Three Institute scientists had approached, looking for help. The Minutemen wanted to know what they were supposed to do with them. Valentine offered to accompany me, but I told him there was no need. At least one detective should be available at the detective agency for detective work. I would have Dogmeat with me, and a squad of Minutemen soldiers. He agreed, perhaps reluctantly, and smiled when I asked him to look in on Shaun while I was gone. “Codsworth will have everything well in hand - hands - but sure I will.” He was of course right; I’m not sure why I asked in the first place, but I was reassured nonetheless.

The checkpoint was to the south, set up around an abandoned freight truck under a highway overpass. The scientists sat clustered together on some wooden crates toward the edge of the checkpoint. They still wore their Institute uniforms, though more worn and far less white than they had once been. Two men and a woman, each from a different branch of the Institute. The woman, whose sleeves were the blue of Advanced Systems, was speaking with another woman with short hair dressed in flannel under a random assortment of metal and leather armor. As I neared, I heard an unmistakably French accent.

“Curie?”

She hurried to me, her face alight, “Monsieur Holmes! How wonderful to see you!”

“And you, Curie,” I smiled. “Did you come all the way from Sanctuary by yourself?”

“Part of the way I traveled with a provisioner. I always find travel so exhilarating. When Colonel Garvey heard about the scientists, I volunteered to come. I was curious, and also I thought medical assistance may be useful. They are fatigued, and a bit malnourished, but otherwise physically healthy.”

“I’m glad to hear it.”

A soldier approached, “General Holmes, sir?”

“Yes?” I’m still not clear on how I’m supposed to address the Minutemen soldiers. How far do ranks extend? There’s no clear indication in uniform. Is everyone simply a ‘Minuteman’ apart from the General - and now Colonel and Lieutenant Colonel? I made a mental note to ask Preston the next time I saw him. “I see you have guests.”

The Minuteman laughed a little, disbelieving. “Yes, sir. Showed up a couple days ago, been living from settlement to settlement, trading whatever knowledge and know-how they could for food and shelter. They came to us because… well, I’ll just let them explain it.”

They stood nervously as we walked closer. “You,” the man from Bioscience said. It was neither in distaste nor in surprise, simply a resigned statement. The second man, wearing the red sleeves of the Robotics division, came forward. He spoke quietly and humbly, expecting to receive no help but hopeful nonetheless — or perhaps just desperate enough to ask no matter what. The request was simple. They wanted a place to start over.

“We’re scientists. We’re not used to this sort of thing,” he made a vague gesture encompassing the world he found himself in, “but we’re willing to try.”

“And you shall have that chance,” I said. “Do you have a location in mind?”

“There’s an old construction site to the south. It’s mostly swamp but improving the area will keep us busy and we’d like the isolation.”

“Are you certain?”

“For now, yes. The people here on the surface have been… a mix. Some have been kind, others decidedly not. We want to establish a settlement, be of some use, and then perhaps we can, um… get to know the neighbors.”

“Very well. I presume you need assistance clearing the place of native wildlife?”

“Mary can shoot, she worked on weapons development, but never at a living target. As for Paul and I, we don’t know the first thing about fighting.”

“I would be happy to accompany you, Monsieur,” Curie said. Dogmeat barked enthusiastically, tail wagging.

“We’ll return as soon as the way is clear,” I told the scientists. To the bemused Minuteman, I said, “Show them the best hospitality you can, limited though that may be, until I get back.”

“They’ll be safe with us, sir.”

A swamp was precisely what the aptly named Murkwater Construction site had become. Apart from a couple yao guai wandering at the edge, it was also suspiciously lacking in wildlife. I’d expected such a waterlogged area to be crawling with mirelurks of some variety, or at the very least a horde of insects, but it was as if something had scared every other living creature away.

That was, of course, precisely the case.

A towering shape moved behind a shed near the roofless remains of a house. Fortunately, we were far enough away to remain hidden.

“We need to get out of here,” I whispered to Curie. “The last time I fought a queen mirelurk was in power armor, armed with a missile launcher — what are you doing?”

Curie set down the duffel bag she’d been carrying on a relatively dry portion of ground. “I asked Lieutenant Colonel Danse to train me. I had defensive capabilities before my current body, it seemed odd I should not have any now, especially when travel is so perilous.” She pulled an oddly rectangular rifle out of the bag. “This is a fascinating device, and quite destructive; it uses electromagnetic coils configured as a linear motor to accelerate ferromagnetic projectiles to extreme —”

“Explain the mechanics later, how good is your aim?”

“The Lieutenant Colonel said my focus and precision was outstanding but amended his comment with ‘for a new recruit.’ I confess, I am not certain what that means, but Monsieur Sturges assured me it was positive.”

I smiled, and wondered if I’d gone mad.

“Shoot it in the face. It will spit acid, so keep your distance and keep covered if you can. I’m going to attack from another angle, try to cripple the legs or strike at the softer underbelly.”

It worked. By god it worked, and I still can’t quite believe it. I had a moment of panic when the creature got within striking distance of Curie, who had unintentionally backed up against a piece of dilapidated wall, but it went suddenly still, a sea of skittering audible. I rushed in, blade in hand and Dogmeat beside me, and kept the mirelurk hatchlings at bay as Curie continued her attack. When the queen finally fell, all the world was silence.

“I would prefer if there was a whole lot less of… that!” Curie exclaimed.

“We did exceptionally well. Not many can say they killed a queen mirelurk.”

“Nevertheless, I would rather not do it ever again. Combat is not to my liking.”

“I’m not fond of it either, but it is often a necessity.”

Her attention had completely shifted to the creature, carefully approaching it. If she’d had a scalpel at hand, she probably would have tried to dissect it. “Do all mirelurks come from such a beast? Or is this a case of parallel evolution?”

“I haven’t the slightest idea. I am not a biologist… though I suppose we could ask the Bioscientist back at the checkpoint.”

“Hm. I’m glad the scientists will be here. The aquatic ecosystem is worthy of study. The Mirelurks role in this, I am sure, is quite fascinating. And this, this mirelurk queen must play a vital role in their reproductive cycle.”

I laughed, “Tell them all about it.”

We brought the scientists to their new home. They were unnerved by the sight of the queen mirelurk’s carcass at first, but Curie’s eagerness to discuss the ecosystem seemed to help. The Robotics scientist, whose name I never did catch, said to me, “I never thought we’d get help from our enemies. Thank you.”

I shook my head, solemn. “I am not your enemy. There’s another Minutemen checkpoint to the west of here, you can go to them if you need help.”

“We will. This place is going to take a lot of work… but we’re going to get it done.”

I stayed to assist him in constructing basic shelter. The Bioscientist set to work on a garden, while Curie gave the Advanced Systems scientist some pointers for her first guard shift. It’s going to be a hard life for them, but they seem determined to see it through. I stopped by the nearby Minutemen checkpoint to inform them of their new neighbors and headed back north.

I asked Curie where she got her armor from as we walked.

“Monsieur Sturges. The pieces belonged to raiders that attacked, but he improved them and made certain they fit me properly. He has been very kind, and always listens. And he is such a creative engineer! It is amazing the things he creates from odds and ends. So much inspiration.”

“I’m glad you’ve settled in at Sanctuary.”

“I am fond of the people there. I think… I think it is a place I would call home. But I long to travel more. To see more of the world, to study everything it has to offer. At the same time, I very much would like to go back.”

I smiled, “That’s part of being human, Curie. Travel is good for the soul, but so is having a place to call home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who's commented on and given kudos to the series so far! Nick will be back in the next chapter, I promise. There are so many companions, and so much great potential for Holmes's interactions, I'm going to touch on as many as I can.


	5. The Disappearance of Earl Sterling

It was night when I returned home from my latest round of Minutemen affairs. Codsworth was glad to see me, and gave me a full report of every moment of domesticity I missed while I was away as he fixed a quick meal for me. Unnecessarily reassured that everything was in order, I went upstairs as quietly as I could. Shaun was asleep, Dogmeat at the foot of his bed. The canine lifted his head, saw it was me, and promptly went back to sleep. I got into bed and followed his example.

I woke the next morning to Shaun shaking me. “Dad! Wake up!” After a moment of terror, I remembered where I was. Nothing was amiss.

I sighed, closing my eyes again. “Why?” I grumbled.

“Nick’s here!”

He had my attention. I sat up, “What?”

“He’s downstairs. Codsworth couldn’t wake you. Nick thought it was funny.”

I threw on a robe over my nightclothes and hurried down the stairs. “Good morning, Valentine.”

“Morning.” He sat at the dining table, an old copy of Publick Occurrences laid out before him, cigarette in hand, and the dog panting happily at his feet. He was amused. “Just how late did you get in?”

“Not terribly late,” I sat down across from him and unconsciously took the coffee mug Codsworth handed me. “I’m afraid I haven’t slept well the past few nights… Codsworth, what is this?”

“Tea, sir.”

“Tea.”

“Well. The closest approximation I’ve been able to reproduce given current resources. It is a work in progress, sir.”

It did not taste like tea. “At least it’s hot. Valentine, what brings you here this morning?”

“A case, if you’re up for it. Local matter.”

As if a sleepless night would be enough to deter me. “What is it?”

“Earl Sterling. Twenty-five-year-old bartender at the Dugout Inn. While you were gone, Vadim noticed that Earl hadn’t been into work for a few days. Normally, this sort of thing would just be blamed on the Institute, but you’ve eliminated that possibility. Vadim came into my office, half-drunk with a sob story about how he and Earl went way back, and that he just can’t believe that Earl would run off without a word.”

“Enemies?”

“None with enough motive to make him disappear. Figured we could head over to the Dugout, ask around, see if anyone has keys to his place. I know,” he cut off my response, “keys aren’t strictly necessary with you, but I’d rather not have to explain to security why I was watching you pick the lock on Earl’s door if we get caught in the act.” He glanced at Shaun as he joined us. “Of course, I doubt anyone there will be in condition to talk until later in the day,” Valentine put out his cigarette in the ashtray on the table. “I thought you’d be up, so I came over, but the investigation can wait til later this afternoon.”

I was grateful for the unspoken acknowledgement of my familial responsibilities. I worry about my frequent absences, the effect they might have on Shaun, knowing what that boy could become - but there is a great deal more to learn about being human here on the surface than he would have been exposed to below. Natalie Wright has taken ‘the strange boy’ under her wing as playmate. Codsworth is as good a combination of housekeeper and caretaker as could be asked for. Piper and Ellie are both fond of Shaun, and Valentine...

I asked if he wanted me to meet him at the Agency, or if he was going to stay the morning. He started to make some halfhearted comment about not wanting to impose, but I didn’t want to pretend.

“You know you’re welcome anytime, day or night. And if you honestly didn’t know, then consider this your permanent invitation. Besides, I have something for you.”

He was surprised, though by the gift or my words I’m not sure. “For me?” he asked.

“Stay there.”

I heard him ask Shaun “What am I in for?” as I went upstairs to retrieve the box. Shaun told him he’d like it. When I came back down, he seemed skeptical.

“I apologize that it’s late,” I said.

“Late?”

“February 14th was a few days ago.”

“Febru… oh. Very funny, wise guy.” He looked at the box as I set it down on the table before him.

“Traditionally, you open it. Granted, it is somewhat lacking in presentation, but it’s remarkably difficult to find wrapping paper in a post-apocalyptic wasteland.”

He smirked as he carefully looked inside, “I can imagine… Well, I’ll be. Where the heck did you find a hat in such good shape?”

“I have my sources.”

“Ha. I guess you do at that.” He examined it with some small awe before replacing the one on his head in a smooth motion, taking it off as he put the other on to minimize the amount of time his head was exposed. “Fits perfectly, too. Thanks, partner.”

I was pleased, I hadn’t been certain of the fit. “You’re welcome.”

Shaun was practically vibrating with excitement. “Come on, Nick, I want to show you something.”

I have never seen Nick Valentine scared, but there was a moment of clear trepidation, almost panic, when Shaun took hold of his right hand without pause, unconcerned with the bare machinery he grasped.

“Shaun,” I gently reprimanded, both proud of his lack of concern and distressed to see my friend so uncomfortable, “consider -”

“It’s alright,” Valentine cut me off, shaken but firm. He stood, and smiled at Shaun, “Show me, kid.”

I could hear hushed voices below as I dressed, masked by Codsworth humming. Shaun has been working on a project of some sort, one that he has decided to be a surprise for me. Codsworth is clearly in on the plot. It was the most… domestic morning I’ve experienced since the world ended. I suppose it says something about my character that as delightful as the morning was, I was anxious to get to work. I’ve never been able to stand idleness, even when in the company of those close to me.

Shaun took Dogmeat to play with Nat, and Valentine and I went to interview the patrons of the Dugout Inn. “Hell of a morning, Holmes,” Valentine said to me as we walked, “Thanks.”

“Thank you, for making it possible. Everything that’s happened… well, a new hat is a poor representation of the gratitude I feel for your assistance and friendship.”

“If I had the capillaries for it, I’d blush.” After a few steps of comfortable silence, he said, “Think your so-called sources could round up a new coat to match?”

I laughed, “I’ll see what I can do.”

 

Diamond City Radio softly played inside the Dugout Inn, the patrons present that afternoon chatting quietly. It never ceases to amaze how quiet the place is, until the man behind the bar starts talking. “Staying out of trouble, Vadim?”

The boisterous owner laughed, “You are checking up on me? I love it. Do not worry, I have cut ties with anyone who might try to kill me over debts. All is well, friend. Relax.”

“I’m glad to hear it. Valentine told me about your friend, Mr. Sterling.”

Vadim shook his head sadly, “Poor Earl. Gone just like that. Such a good bartender. Good friend. Oh, but terrible with women, mind you. Bull in china shop with them. Ah, Nicky, forgot to drop off Earl’s key when I hired you. Here.” He handed it over, “I hope you find out what happened. Security does nothing but yell at me for asking about it.”

He turned his attention to his customers, as I turned my attention to his brother. Valentine had already started in the direction of the other patrons scattered through the bar.

Yefim had a very different opinion of Earl Sterling than Vadim. “One of my brother’s old friends. Oh boy, the way those two would go on about girls. You think Vadim is loud now.”

“I find it hard to believe he could be louder.”

Yefim smiled, “You’d think so, but you’ve never seen him with Earl.” The innkeeper’s expression darkened, “Earl was a horrible womanizer, and I warned him more than once to leave the staff and customers alone, but my brother always stood up for him. Honestly? Kind of glad he’s gone. Wouldn’t shut up about the new face he was going to get at the Mega Surgery Center. Vain till the end.”

It was not a pleasant picture painted, to be sure. I joined Valentine, who was now in conversation with the waitress, Scarlett. She too had not been much impressed with Mr. Sterling’s character. “You’d think a bartender would be… smooth, you know? Charming? Not Earl. He tried so hard, too. Way too hard. The real sad thing? He thought it was his looks. Kept talking about getting a new face over at the Mega Surgery. Wouldn’t have helped.”

As we left her to her work, I told Valentine that Yefim had mentioned the Mega Surgery Center as well.

“Earl must’ve been convinced all his troubles would be solved with a new face,” my friend stated. “You ever talk to Dr. Crocker over there?”

“Not personally, but I’ve heard Dr. Sun complaining about his coworker’s lack of professionalism and/or lack of concern for his patient’s health.”

Valentine smirked. “Sounds about right. Well, we’ve got Earl’s key, suppose we drop in and see what we find?”

Nick Valentine works out his thoughts aloud when he’s on a case. I often did the same before the War. It was humorous to find myself on the receiving end of a trail of reason, and at the same time it was somehow comforting.

“You know, even before you killed the boogeyman, I’d have put the chances of this being an Institute snatch job somewhere between zero and none. The idea of this being a run-of-the-mill kidnapping is just as unlikely. Earl Sterling, local assistant bartender. Why not nab someone you can use? Someone who could get you what you want? Earl could barely get you a drink by closing on a busy night. So where’s that leave us? No known enemies. Wasn’t much for the great outdoors, so likely not Raiders or Mutants. No, this all screams accident. Now, what was Earl into that might’ve gotten him in this kinda trouble?”

“Women.”

Valentine was shocked. “That’s a hell of an answer.”

I hastened to explain, “No, no that’s not what I meant. The surgery, Valentine. He was obsessed with changing his looks so that women would accept his advances, even though it would have done him no good. I’ve just found the receipt. Dr. Crocker is the last person who would have seen him before he disappeared.”

Valentine looked at the slip of paper covered in the doctor’s nearly illegible scrawl. “Well, then. Guess it’s time we made a doctor’s visit.”

Dr. Sun stood in his open-air office, cleaning up after his last patient.

“Dr. Sun?” I asked while his back was to me, “Is Dr. Crocker here?”

“I’m a doctor, not a secretary. I’m sure he’ll be around eventually. Did you have an appointment…” he turned to face us. “Oh. I should have known it was you when you pronounced my name properly… and Nick Valentine? What’s going on?”

“We need to talk to Dr. Crocker about Earl Sterling,” Valentine showed him the receipt.

“Ah. Mundane procedure, low risk cosmetic work. But Dr. Crocker said the surgery was never performed, Earl vanished before he paid.”

“We’re trying to find Mr. Sterling,” I said. “There is a strong chance that Dr. Crocker is the last person to see him before his disappearance.”

“The last time I saw Dr. Crocker, he had to get something out of the Surgery cellar. Probably just had to wash some needles or move some storage around, he’ll be back up shortly.”

“Dr. Sun, why is there a trail of blood leading under that door?”

Dr. Sun looked at the floor, surprised. “What? Oh. Dr. Crocker must have tracked some fluids when he went down into the cellar. He’s… sometimes not as fastidious as I am between surgeries. This is a medical facility, it’s not unusual to see blood stains.”

“Awful lot of blood, Doc,” Valentine said, softly.

Dr. Sun frowned. “Look, I may not care for Dr. Crocker’s attitude, but I’ve worked with him for ten years and if you think anything other than medicine is happening in that cellar, you don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Then there’s no reason for you not to let us in,” I said.

“There are plenty of reasons - but fine. Here’s the key. See for yourself, if it’ll put this whole thing to rest. But if I find one instrument out of place down there, I will hold you accountable.”

I took the key. “You have our word, Doctor, everything shall be left exactly as we found it.”

Exactly what we found… was blood.

Rumors have already circulated about what transpired in that cellar. I’m tempted to write an account for Piper to publish, not only to stop rumor from spiraling out of control, but because it is the truth. Dr. Crocker was respected by a great many people in Diamond City. When we went into the cellar, he was in the process of cutting the body of Earl Sterling into pieces. He was clearly unhinged, speaking to the body as he worked. We managed to slowly draw the story out of him. He had taken jet before Earl’s operation. He made a lethal mistake during the operation, and Earl died. To preserve his reputation, Crocker decided to make the body disappear by cutting it up into small pieces he could deposit in the nearby butcher’s waste pile.

He grew more and more agitated as he spoke. I tried to calm him down, “You made a mistake and a man died for it, but you can still do the right thing, doctor.”  
There was a moment of clarity on his face as the reality of his actions penetrated through the drug haze. “You’re right. There’s one thing I can do. Only one thing’s going to make this all better.”

I rushed forward as soon as I saw the syringe in his hand, but I was too late. He injected himself with a lethal dose of Psycho. Death was almost instantaneous.

It was at that moment that Dr. Sun decided to check on us. We explained what happened. Dr. Sun was appalled, shocked that his colleague would go to such lengths to preserve his reputation, and berated himself for not recognizing the severity of Dr. Crocker’s chem use. Then he ordered us out of his cellar, stating that a medical professional should be the one to clean up the mess. With his assurance that he would file a report to Security, we returned to the Agency to file our report with Ellie. She took it upon herself to let everyone down at the Dugout Inn know what happened - a tragic mistake born from pride. Death was the ultimate cost of vanity, for both men.

Afterward, Valentine and I stood outside my front door smoking, and waited for my son to come home from school.

“At this rate, we’re going to have to put your name up on signs for the agency.”

I scoffed, “I’m an accessory to your work.”

“Stop that. You found the receipt, you get the credit. Not exactly high profile, and the ending sure left something to be desired, but you’re always there when I need ya’. As far as I’m concerned, that makes you one hell of a partner.”

“Thank you,” I said, “but I haven’t the slightest interest in seeing my name done up in neon.”

My friend laughed, “The sign might be an eyesore, but it sure brings in business.”

Unfortunately, I had no counter argument.


	6. A Hell of a Kid

I was upstairs saying goodnight to Shaun when I heard the knock on the door. Codsworth answered quietly, and Valentine kept his voice low as he entered.

“Dad?” Shaun asked, “Why are some people scared of Nick?”

I sighed. “They don’t understand him, and people are often scared of what they don’t understand.”

“They don’t understand that he’s a synth?”

“No, they know full well he’s a synth. They don’t understand that he’s a person.”

“Did the Institute really send synths to hurt people?”

“The Institute sent synths to the surface for a variety of reasons. Often, people were hurt, regardless of what the original reason might have been. You have good memories of the people there.”

“They were nice to me. Most of them.”

“I know. Most of the scientists were simply people going about their lives and doing their jobs, but a lot of the things they helped create caused a lot of pain and fear to the people on the surface, even though they never knew it.”

“Is that why you destroyed them?”

“That’s why I destroyed the building, all their resources. I gave everyone a chance to get out, though some didn’t. I know for certain one stayed…” I cleared my throat, banishing the thought from my mind, focusing on the face of my son before me. “Even decent people can make horrible decisions. The individual scientists cared for each other, and for you, but there was so much apathy within the Institute. I know this is hard to understand, but it is possible for actions that help one group to only hurt another group instead. You must always consider the consequences of your actions.”

He considered this a moment. “Dad,” he yawned, “how come Nick is so beat up?”

“He’s been around for a long time.”

“But why didn’t anyone ever fix him?”

“No one on the surface knows how, and the Institute didn’t want him.”

“Maybe I can fix him. If he wanted, I mean. I think his metal hand is neat. But maybe other people wouldn’t be so scared if he was fixed up.”

“I don’t think it would matter,” I smiled, “not much, at least. Besides, there’s a certain character to the old synth I’m rather fond of.”

“He is really cool,” Shaun nodded, deep in thought. “He’s a lot different from all the other second generation synths. Because he’s a prototype, right?”

“Yes.”

“Well. If he wanted it, I’d try to fix him. But I don’t have the tools that they had in the Institute. So I’d have to build those first. Maybe Sturges could help.”

I chuckled, “Enough. If one day you manage to find a way to craft synthetic skin, then we can talk about it. For now, I want you to focus on going to sleep so that you can get through school tomorrow.”

“Ok,” he yawned. “Dad? Last question.”

“What is it?”

“Why do you call him Valentine?”

“Lots of people call him Valentine.”

“Yeah, but he’s your best friend.”

“… true. It’s habit, I suppose. I never thought about it before. Goodnight, Shaun.”

“Goodnight, Dad.”

I started down the stair and saw Valentine looking up at me. I gestured we move to the opposite side of the house.

“Codsworth told me you were getting the kid to bed,” he said, apologetically. “Guess my curiosity got the better of me.”

“It’s alright. What brings you here tonight?”

“Didn’t feel like sitting around in the Agency.” He hesitated. “Shaun’s a hell of a kid.”

I sat on the sofa, “You heard.”

“Yeah. Real sweet of him. Guess only time will tell if he ever figures it out.”

“He seems quite determined.”

“A common trait among ten-year-olds.” He was still a moment before lighting a cigarette and sitting beside me.

I took the one proffered. “One of the material pleasures I miss most from before the end of the world is smoking a pipe,” I said, wistfully.

“Hm. Yeah, I can picture that. Never had the patience for it myself - well. Nick never did… where’d the butler go?”

“He’s tidying the workshop. He’ll fret over whether or not to move anything Shaun and I might be working on currently, content himself with dusting, then come back in to clean the kitchen before going into standby mode until approximately 5am.”

Valentine laughed a little. We sat in silence a while and listened to propulsion and quiet muttering from the distant room. Dogmeat went up to his customary position at the foot of my son’s bed.

“It occurs to me, we’ve known each other for how many months now, and I still don’t know your first name.”

“Sherlock.”

He looked at me. “Really?”

“British.”

“Sherlock Holmes. Huh.”

“Holmes is perfectly sufficient.”

“Got it,” he smiled.

We spoke for some hours, reminiscing about the past. It was the first time I’d talked to someone about my life before… everything. It devolved into a contest to see whose career held the strangest cases, lasting well into the night.


	7. Uneasy Truce

I should have known Piper would demand answers when she spotted me getting into the power armor. I wasn’t quite expecting the veracity with which she questioned me. “Elder Maxson has sent word requesting his Paladin’s presence on the Prydwen,” I said by way of meager explanation.

“Exactly why is the General of the Minutemen, hero of the Commonwealth, taking orders from Arthur Maxson?”

“I’m only acting as I would expect any Minuteman to act if I requested their appearance here in Diamond City, or Sanctuary, or the Castle. At the same time, my unique position grants me a great amount of leeway within the Brotherhood.”

“Why have anything to do with the Brotherhood in the first place?”

“They remain one of the strongest forces in the Commonwealth, and have made great contributions to reducing the local feral and super mutant populations.”

“They also hate synths. You’re pretty good friends with one of those.”

“Miss Wright, as of this moment, the Minutemen and Brotherhood exist in an unstated truce. Let’s leave it that way.”

She ignored me, following along as I left the city, “You’ve emphasized in the past that, as long as you’re in charge, the Minutemen welcome everyone, human, ghoul, or synth. How do you reconcile that attitude with your position in the Brotherhood?”

“I don’t. I completely disagree with the Brotherhood policy that a being’s origins warrant its destruction. If a synth, or a ghoul, or a human, or anything else that might exist in the world establishes itself as a threat, then action should be taken. There is no just cause in killing for the sake of ‘what if?’ And you will not publish any of that, Piper.”

She was offended. “What?!”

“There is one reason I play the role of Paladin and only one - Danse asked me to.”

She was perplexed. “But they want him dead!”

“They were his family, the only one he knew. They taught him everything he knows about honor and adhering to a moral code, even if that code has changed slightly since he discovered what he is. He asked me not to cause chaos within the ranks, to just let his name be sullied and presumed dead and gone, and so I will, even though I hate it with every fiber of my being, because I gave my word.”

Her expression was hard, the desire to fight clear, but she relented. “… ok, Blue. We’ll skip the hard questions this time, but I don’t like it.”

“As you seem to be coming anyway, you can ask Maxson all you want.”

“Ha! After what you told me about Danse? It’s going to be a struggle not to spit in Maxson’s face.”

“He believes in his cause and does genuinely care about his people. I believe he even cares about the fate of humanity at large.”

“Great. Now if he could just care about all the rest of the people in the Commonwealth.”

 

The Prydwen continues to hover over its mooring at the airport, a proud and admittedly visually impressive example of Brotherhood might and ingenuity. The soldiers on board, however, were clearly feeling less superior than they were accustomed. My reception on the Prydwen was… mixed. Most of the soldiers were put out that I didn’t “invite them to the party” as it were, and I overheard many concerns at the Minutemen becoming an unexpected force in the Commonwealth. A few soldiers even made comments in a tone that would have bordered on insubordination had I cared a whit. 

I reported to Maxson immediately, intending to get this over with. He made his distaste perfectly clear as well.

“Paladin. Report to Captain Kells for an assignment.”

I was unamused. “Before I do, Elder, I wonder if I might have a word.”

“I don’t have time -”

“I don’t have time to answer to frivolous requests, either, Maxson. We are both leaders of our respective factions. I happen to also be a member of yours, for now.” He scowled. “You’re the one who made me a Paladin,” I stated, “it was never my intention to rise through the ranks of the Brotherhood. Surely everyone must wonder about your decision.”

“Perhaps, but they don’t question it. Most think that you are given a long leash because you took down the Institute, killed your commanding officer and friend upon my order, have apparently just rescued your son from the Institute’s clutches, and you deserve time to be with your family. This is all true… however, even with the great freedom your position grants you, it is necessary that you make an appearance on the Prydwen now and then. Consider it part of our… ongoing truce with the Minutemen. After all, any treaty forged between parties will require compromises neither party wants to make.” He changed the subject. “You brought a reporter on board.”

“I told her she would find interviewing Brotherhood soldiers a fruitless endeavor but didn’t see the harm.”

“What explanation do you propose I give to soldiers who wonder about the rumor that you’ve become a… business partner, with the synth called Valentine?”

I was grateful my helmet hid any expression that may have flitted across my face. “You can tell them the truth. I am happy to call him partner, and friend. Without his aid, I never would have found the only man who knew how to get into the Institute. Without that, the molecular relay would never have been built, I never would have gotten inside, and the Institute would still be at large. The world owes Nick Valentine a great debt, regardless of whether or not he is a machine. Thus, I treat him with respect and human decency. Nick Valentine may not himself be human, but he strives toward a far higher standard of humanity than do many if not most humans in the Commonwealth.”

“How can a machine  _strive_  for anything?” 

“I can think of one in particular who strove for nothing but your approval in everything he did. If he were alive, he would still be striving toward ideals of honor and dignity in everything he does, trying to keep humanity safe, though the methods may differ slightly than Brotherhood standard procedure now.”

“Enough.” An odd expression flashed in the young Elder’s eyes. Anger that I would border so close to breaking our agreement, but also… something else. It’s hard to say what it was. I had the distinct impression I had gone too far this time, but he took a breath and said, “I don’t have time to discuss hypotheticals with you, Paladin. You are to report to Captain Kells. He has a selection of squires ready to go into the field under the watch of a Brotherhood soldier. Considering your remarkable achievements, and your experience with children under unusual circumstances, you are an ideal choice. Kells will provide further details. Dismissed.” 

I nodded, contemplated a sardonic ‘yes sir’ and decided against it.

Kells was surprisingly civil - no, even respectful. He explained that a squire would be assigned to follow my every move and learn by example as I clear a location of ‘abnormal sentients.’ The location he had chosen was a blast crater inhabited by the Children of Atom. While I was surprised, I have to admit the cultists fit the description of ‘abnormal sentients’ quite well. The squire would be waiting for me in the airport.

Before I went down, I spoke to the precious few people I respect in the Brotherhood. Proctor Ingram was worried about running out of reactor coolant to keep the Prydwen afloat. Senior Scribe Neriah was ecstatic to hear I’d provided her with the effects of a nuclear explosion on an ecosystem close enough for her to study in person. Proctor Teagan was… subdued. He’d just heard that a friend of his had been shot down on patrol by raiders. We spoke for a while about the costs of war, the lives lost. It seemed to help him.

All three of them were varying degrees of disappointed that the Minutemen had been the ones to destroy the Institute, but they were overwhelmingly supportive of the simple fact that the Institute was gone. To quote Proctor Ingram, “You got the job done, and in my book, that’s what really counts.”

Piper was discontent. Her attempts at finding a story had gone exactly the way I had predicted, and while she could have written an account of escorting an eager young squire through the Commonwealth, she decided not to. I may have taken most of the wind from her sails when I asked her not to publish anything that might be construed as disobeying orders or betraying the Brotherhood.

She certainly wasn’t pleased to hear what I was doing. “There are kids on board?!”

“They’re called squires. Brotherhood boy scouts.”

“What the hell is a boy scout.”

“Never mind.” We stepped inside my reserved quarters, untouched since they were given to me after Danse’s “death.” I didn’t want to be overheard. “The squires are one more reason I don’t want to start a war between Minutemen and Brotherhood. We’d be forced to attack the Prydwen, and there wouldn’t be any way to see the children to safety beforehand.”

“Dammit, Blue. So, what, now you’re going to haul one across the Commonwealth to go kill some cultists?”

“No, we are.”

“I am so not happy with this.”

“I know. I do apologize, I hadn’t the slightest idea what menial task they might have come up with for me… though, to be honest, I think Kells may have been sincere in his desire I help train the new generation. He’ll have to be satisfied with this singular occasion.”

The squire was remarkably excited, commenting the entire way. She was going to be the envy of all the other squires and couldn’t imagine going back to living on the Prydwen after being out in the world. She also despaired of the fact that she wasn’t armed. “I wish they would have given me a gun. Proctor Teagan just laughed.”

One more reason to like the man.

The assignment was a success; one less accumulation of hostile radiation worshiping cultists in the Commonwealth, an overly impressed squire who was so exhausted I had to carry her onto the vertibird back up to the Prydwen, and an eager-to-leave Paladin and neighborhood reporter.

“Blue, if the Brotherhood came to destroy the Institute, and the Institute is gone, why are the Brotherhood still here?”

“According to Maxson, though the Institute is destroyed, synths are still at large and a threat.”

“Something tells me the Gen 2s aren’t what Maxson is talking about.”

“You’re right. Fortunately, the Brotherhood have no way of knowing who is or isn’t a synth. The fact that Danse was a respected member of their forces for so long proves this.”

Piper and I spoke a great deal during the walk back to Diamond City. Most of it had nothing to do with the Brotherhood. We spoke of Nat and Shaun, of Diamond City, and at some point something spurred her to thank me. “You’re not afraid of me like everyone else.” I’d never made the connection before that being the world’s only reporter came with a reputation. Publishing people’s secrets did not endear her to anyone, even if it was true, even if it needed to be said. I assured her that she could always count on me to help, and that I appreciated all the help she gives to me and my family… even if part of the bargain involves intense interviews regarding war-starting subjects.

We entered Diamond City to the familiar sound of Natalie Wright selling papers. Nat greeted her big sister fondly, with a story of punching a student who had the gall to kiss her at school. The hour was growing late. I hurried home.


	8. The Pickman Gallery Horror

Valentine came by in the early afternoon while Shaun was over at Publick Occurrences, playing with Nat. They’re becoming quite the pair. The reason for the visit was a case, of a sort. Mayor Hancock of Goodneighbor had sent one of his men all the way to Diamond City to ask the detective to do some reconnaissance for him. When I asked why he didn’t use his own men, Nick pointed out that the people in Hancock’s employ tend to be more of the "shooting type" than the "sneaking type." He insisted Hancock wouldn’t ask if he wasn’t worried.

“How well do you know Mayor Hancock?”

“Ten years or so ago, he lived here in Diamond City. Wasn’t called Hancock back then… but that’s his story to tell, not mine.”

I was intrigued. “Very well. Let me get my things together.”

“Sure. I suggest leaving the Shroud costume at home this time.”

He laughed when I came down wearing the hat.

 

The Mayor of Goodneighbor greeted Valentine warmly. “Good to see you, Nick.”

A friendly “Hancock,” was Valentine’s response. “Have you met my partner?”

Hancock looked me over once and smiled. “Yeah, I think so. Sorry about Finn. Bad first impression on the town…” It is difficult to know where exactly a pair of black pupiless eyes are focused, but I’m certain he glanced at the hat. “Though I guess you know all about Goodneighbor’s less pleasant residents.”

“A few less of those now, I hope,” I said.

He chuckled. “If you’re Nick’s partner, that means you’re also General of the Minutemen. Publick Occurrences makes its way up here, a couple issues old maybe, but it’s good stuff. Goodneighbor’s always open to you.”

Eventually, we managed to get to the reason why we were there. Pickman Gallery was a building in raider territory near the Old North Church. The raiders had been quiet. Hancock described it as “uncomfortable post-coital quiet.” If something had spooked the raiders, he wanted to know what it was. He said this as if it were a passing curiosity, but there was real concern for potential danger, too. We agreed to investigate.

As we left, Valentine asked, “Do I want to know what happened to Finn?”

“I wandered into Goodneighbor without any concept if the sort of place it was. Finn was in the middle of his extortion routine when Hancock interrupted and scolded him for it. Then Hancock killed him when Finn accused him of going soft.”

I don’t know what reaction I expected, but the only response Valentine gave was, “Never did like the womanizing bastard, anyway.”

A light illuminated the red door to the so-called gallery. A raider lay dead before it.

“Good start,” Valentine muttered as we silently moved in.

Two raiders stood inside with their backs to the door, deep in conversation. They were there to kill Pickman, apparently the gallery owner, as soon as they could find him. More raiders were searching the building; one spotted us from the stairwell a couple floors up. A firefight ensued, ending with all the raiders dead, and we were free to step into the main room of the first floor. The “gallery.”

Valentine summed it up perfectly; “What kind of monster could think this is art?”

In the middle of the room was a pile of scrap and bodies, heads on pikes, something I’d expect to see in a super mutant’s den. The more horrifying sight were the paintings. Ten paintings hung on the walls around the room, disturbing works of abstract violence. There was something strangely visceral in their execution, the clash of red, yellow, and black evoking a deep unease… and then I realized they were painted in blood.

A recently dead body lay on the floor near the pile. A holotape in his pocket held a message of the horrible discovery of this room, and the voice of the ‘artist.’ “Hold that expression on your face…”

This madman had to be stopped. We ventured upstairs but found nothing but raiders and corpses in bedrooms. On the ground floor we found the kitchen, another painting on the wall. Behind a locked door were stairs to the basement. There was a work in progress, a can of 'red’ sitting abandoned before it. Another pile of bodies lay in front of a tunnel leading further down. We descended, following the sound of raiders searching, calling out the serial killer’s name, and then the sounds of discovery and battle.

We watched from atop a ledge at the scene below us, a man in a respectable suit battling raiders with nothing but knife and fist. He managed to kill one before his body was riddled with bullets. One of the raiders spotted us, firing up at our hiding spot. I responded in kind. They did not live long after.

“This was a mess,” Valentine grimaced.

I agreed. We made our exit and returned to Goodneighbor. Hancock was surprised by what we’d found, to say the least. “That’s messed up, even for this town.” He was also impressed. “You ended up in the abyss, but you crawled back in one piece.”

I wasn’t so certain.

Valentine could tell there was something wrong as we left. “Drinks at the Third Rail are swill, but the music’s good. Clear your head before heading home.”

I nodded with a sigh, doubtful music would suffice, but willing to try. The Third Rail was the same conglomeration of drifters and criminals-for-hire I’d seen when I first came to Goodneighbor. Magnolia was singing a modern composition she may have wrote herself given its reference to Goodneighbor. It was a slow tune heavily laden with sexual innuendo. Her performance was good, even if the material wasn’t what I would ever choose to listen to. The next song was an old jazz standard, which while an improvement, was hardly of as much interest to me as the conversations I could hear beneath the music.

Why should I find the hint of criminal activity in this place of all places suspect? This was different. Every job here, every discussion, was told in plain obfuscations. Terminology evolved to let the participants of the conversation know exactly what the other isn’t saying but expects to be understood, to be read between the lines. “Bobbi No-Nose has work” told nothing. Reactions to the name indicated she had been a source of trouble in the past. No details meant it was business that no one wanted to know about, and that it was business only the desperate, the naive, or those with zero moral scruples would ever consider taking.

I knew full well what sort of activity goes on in Goodneighbor. I’d left the Shroud at home, but this was no time for a vigilante spouting dramatic lines from a comic book. I’d have to wear a very different disguise if I wanted to know what else lurked in this place. Valentine would hate it.

My attention drifted to the VIP lounge. “Valentine… I’m going to hire a mercenary.”

He faced me, yellow eyes shining through the dim light of the bar. “You’re what!? Why the hell would you take up with that sort?”

“I’m curious.”

He frowned. “Curious. You’ve gotta be kidding.”

I couldn’t explain. I didn’t want to risk the malaise I could sense on the edges of my psyche, the threat of domestic stagnation that waited at home. I could feel a black cloud looming. This place, this whole godforsaken town, was a distraction. My life after the Vault had been a whirlwind of new experiences, dangers, and the ever-present quest to find Shaun. Now that it was over… but how to tell Valentine? I didn’t have the words… or perhaps I didn’t have the will.

“I’ll meet you back home.”

His mouth tightened, stopping the frown that nearly formed. “Alright. If that’s the way you want it.”

I ignored the twist in my stomach as I watched him go. Then I turned my attention to the two Gunners, as evidenced by the tattoos on their foreheads, that had just entered the lounge. I swiftly and quietly followed.

The Gunners were harassing a young man, early twenties, wearing a torn tan duster with several pouches over army green shirt and pants, a matching military-type cap on his head with two rifle rounds strapped to the brim. If the binoculars at his waist and bandolier around his left leg didn’t give it away, the conversation fast revealed this mercenary was a marksman. He had recently been employed by the Gunners, but left. I was somewhat reassured by the fact. The Gunners were not pleased to hear he was operating inside their territory, and aimed to scare him off. The young mercenary, called MacCready, did not scare easily.

The Gunners left, and I approached. He was initially suspicious, but more than willing to talk business once it became clear I was a serious potential client. He named a price. I could have haggled, but accepting had the benefit of gaining favor immediately. Either he would think I was naive, or he would think I was wealthy enough not to care about money. Only an idiot would think I was naive. This man was not an idiot. “You’ve got a deal.”

He smiled. “Now you’re speaking my language. All right, boss… you got yourself an extra gun. Lead on.”

Bobbi No-Nose is the unimaginative _nom de guerre_ of a ghoulish mob boss. She spoke through a window in her alleyway door and provided no details about the work, apart from needing a few hands to dig a tunnel. More details would be provided on a need to know basis. She named a price. I told her she could do better than that. She named a better price. I agreed. We descended into the dig.

While he had made approving sounds during the bargaining, MacCready was puzzled. “Seriously? You just hired me so I could watch your back while you dig a tunnel?”

Shouts of alarm came from ahead of us. Workers in hardhats ran out, “Mirelurks! Good luck, new guy!”

“Forget I said anything,” said MacCready, and readied his rifle.

Once the mirelurks were dispatched, Bobbi was impressed we were the only people in the tunnel who didn’t run. She told me she had some business to take care of in Diamond City, and I should meet her there.

Diamond City is the last place I want to go right now, but I’ve committed to seeing this through. All of my instincts tell me this whole business is trouble, and I want to know what's going on. We’ll reach Diamond City tomorrow.


	9. The Big Dig

It was strange walking into Diamond City, knowing I was there for business rather than coming home. School was in session, a small blessing, and I was able to deflect the conversations of the two Minutemen recruiters while MacCready was placing an order with Takahashi. The mercenary commented he hadn’t been in Diamond City for years, but nothing had changed. Minutemen flags may fly, but the city itself is the same as it ever was.

Bobbi was wearing a mask to hide her face. Ghouls aren’t allowed in Diamond City, a policy the city council has yet to retract. I’ll have to speak to Geneva about that, perhaps suggest Piper write an article. She could use a new cause to crusade. I digress. Bobbi said the target was the stronghouse under the Mayor’s office. She tried to make it sound like this was a bit of passive aggressive revenge for ghouls being banned from Diamond City, speaking of all the caps and supplies that would be made available to everyone. This was obviously a lie, as she is neither a good Samaritan nor anarchist, but until I could discover the truth I had to feign satisfaction with her explanation.

The next part of her plan involved breaking a man out of jail. ‘Mel’ was a tech expert she’d worked with before, and he was currently in residence in a cell in the Diamond City Security office. I wasn’t pleased, but I agreed, and she went back to Goodneighbor to wait.

MacCready strolled over, just as Dogmeat ran up. I smiled and reassured the canine that I was fine. He sniffed MacCready, seemed doubtful, and trotted over to beg from one of the Minutemen Takahashi was serving. Bad enough Shaun slips him extra scraps from the table, now my own soldiers are doing it.

“Good looking dog,” MacCready said. “You the owner?”

“I’m not certain ‘owner’ is the right word, but Dogmeat seems to favor the company of my family, yes.”

He seemed puzzled. “Did you say Dogmeat?”

“I’m not the one who named him. Come on, we have to get one of Bobbi’s associates out of jail.”

“We have to do what now?”

According to one of the guards, Mel was caught trying to reprogram the bartending robot from the Colonial Taphouse in the upper stands to give him free beer, which the guard stated he would have done himself if he’d had the know-how. Mel was pleasantly surprised at being set free, though somewhat exasperated when I told him it was at Bobbi’s request. “That woman doesn’t have a patient bone in her body. I wasn’t serving a life sentence here. What, she couldn’t wait like a day?” I gave him the details of the job, the few that I knew, and he said he’d meet me back at Bobbi’s place.

“So we’re getting criminals out of jail now, instead of putting them in it?”

I turned and saw Valentine step around the corner. “Honestly Valentine, he was caught trying to reprogram Wellingham and would have been out tomorrow -”

“Not the point, Holmes.”

“There a problem, boss?” MacCready asked.

“Boss, huh?” Valentine was skeptical. “This is what you hired?”

“Sure is. Who could blame him?” MacCready challenged.

I sighed. “For heaven’s sake, I don’t have time for this.”

“Right,” Valentine folded his arms. “You’ve got business to take care of in Goodneighbor. Don’t let me keep you.”

I walked away. Thankfully, MacCready followed. “How do you know that bucket of bolts?”

“His name is Nick Valentine.”

“I know what his name is. He’s supposed to be some sort of synth detective, even though he’s falling apart.”

“He helped me find my son, destroy the Institute, and is a close friend of mine, Mr. MacCready. Choose your words more carefully.”

“Whoa, ok, ok... wait, did you say destroy the Institute?”

“Yes.”

“You’re the reason C.I.T is a big water-filled hole in the ground.”

“Yes.”

“Why the fu-” he bit off the swear, an unexpected quirk, “- uh, why exactly did you hire me?”

“It seemed like a good idea at the time. I wanted to know what sort of mercenary would leave the Gunners, what must have been a steady source of income.”

“Most people don’t want to have anything to do with me once they learn I used to run with Gunners.”

“It is the ‘used to,’ Mr. MacCready, that is precisely why I bought your services.”

“… huh.”

Back in Goodneighbor, we found Bobbi and Mel in the digsite with an enhanced eyebot. Mel called it Sonya. He’d reconstructed the machine to use sonic blasts to knock down any walls in our way, digging faster to the target. It also simultaneously enraged every mirelurk in residence.

As we went, it became clear Mel was just as certain as me that we were not headed for Diamond City. The question neither of us had an answer to, was where we were really headed. We learned soon enough.

When we finally emerged, it was inside a freight depot. Hancock’s personal bodyguard, Fahrenheit, was there, along with members of the Neighborhood Watch. Needless to say, Bobbi had lied. The freight depot we had just broken into was Hancock’s storehouse. Unfortunately, Bobbi wasn’t simply going to walk away. Mel managed to get out alive, which I suppose I’m glad for. He was hardly a hardened criminal, after all.

Fahrenheit was mildly incredulous the former mob boss had been so foolish, and strongly suggested I speak to Hancock at the next opportunity.

The next opportunity proved to be a bit farther off than I expected.

“Back to Goodneighbor,” MacCready sighed. “Gotta say, that place is starting to wear out its welcome.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Let’s put it this way; can’t get much rest when you’re sleeping with one eye open. Still, it was the best place for me to set up shop.”

I decided to take advantage of my companion’s suddenly talkative mood. “I suppose you would have been run out of Diamond City,” I prompted.

“Yeah, and wandering the Commonwealth alone isn’t the brightest plan when you’re hard up for caps. I needed somewhere to hang out so that people could find me when they required my services. The folks in Goodneighbor tended not to ask too many questions which suited my needs. So, I made a deal with Hancock and started waiting for the caps to roll in. Those two assh… those two idiots you saw me talking to at the Third Rail, Winlock and Barnes. They’ve been hounding me for months and it’s been driving off clients. I figured if I could get enough caps together, maybe I could buy them out.”

I scoffed, “I wouldn’t trust those two, even if you paid them off.”

He nodded, “Yeah… I’m right there with you. Winlock and Barnes have a small army of Gunners with them at all times. They might decide to just keep the caps and put a bullet in my head for good measure. If I set up a place to meet them, I’m sure they’d roll in with everyone they’ve got. Unless…” he glanced at me, uncertain, “maybe you and I could pay them a little visit and put an end to them before they realize what’s going on. And before you get that look on your face, let me just say that I wouldn’t even be asking if I didn’t trust you.”

I was surprised. “Trust me?”

“I haven’t been able to rely on anyone since I was a kid. Everyone I’ve met has either tried to rip me off or plant a knife in my back. But you… I haven’t been following you long, but I can tell you’re different.”

“Where are they?”

“Mass Pike Interchange. Look, I know I’m supposed to be the one taking orders, but -”

“We’ll go immediately.”

He was stunned. “… really?”

“Of course.”

“Oh. Wow. Thanks.”


	10. Mercenaries and Mayors

The Mass Pike Interchange was to the west. The sun was setting by the time we reached the towering remains of the overpass. The only way up was an elevator in the middle of a Gunner camp. Nightfall granted a cover of darkness as I moved among the Gunners. Once the guard troops were eliminated, we made our way up to find Winlock and Barnes. What we found was another Gunner encampment. MacCready and I were a devastating team, him taking out targets from afar as I engaged at closer distances. The Assaultron gave us a bit of trouble, but it too fell. Winlock and Barnes dead, along with the rest of the camp, we made a hasty retreat.

I was concerned the Gunners might retaliate upon MacCready, but he assured me this wasn’t the case. He claimed the loss of an entire waystation was too costly for them to waste resources on revenge. Besides, they have no way of knowing he was involved, which was a fair point.

Then he asserted he owed me a favor. “After all, you hired me, but I’m the one that dragged you out here.”

“Nonsense, MacCready, you don’t owe me anything.”

“Eh, I like everything to remain nice and even… and you’re one up on me. Tell you what, I’ll give you back the caps you paid me in Goodneighbor. I’ll still stick with you, because that was part of the original deal, but now we’re even.”

I chuckled, “Very well. I warn you, my original intent in hiring you was a short term contract.”

He shrugged, “If you want me to stick around, I sure don’t mind it. This seems to be working out so far, so. Lead on, boss.”

I refused to stop at Diamond City on the way to Goodneighbor, but I did turn on Radio Freedom. Perhaps I felt a twinge of guilt for ignoring my responsibilities, even though that was hardly the case. I wasn’t ignoring anything, as much as escaping. Sparing my friend and family the alternative.

“Oh no,” MacCready groaned as the music played, “you’re not a fan of classical music, are you?”

“Yes, actually. It’s a shame the Institute was supplying the station.”

“The Institute? Really? See, evil people listen to classical music. One less reason to play it.”

I smirked, “I’d put caps on you preferring rock and roll.”

“You’d win.”

The music stopped, and The Voice of the Minutemen gave his announcement of the time. He followed with an alert - super mutant activity near the Warwick homestead. Any available Minutemen should lend a hand.

I switched off the radio, and saw MacCready staring.

“Well, damn,” he said.

“Putting two and two together, Mr. MacCready?”

His response was stopped by the distinct grumble of a super mutant on watch. We ducked down and crept into the shadows of the nearest building.

“It seems every week a new batch takes up residence here, no matter how often Diamond City Security fights them off,” I said.

“We gonna do Security’s job for them?” MacCready asked as though he knew the answer.

“That would fall under my job of making the Commonwealth a safer place.”

He rolled his eyes, “Come on, you don’t really believe that sh- stuff?”

I smiled. “I point, and you shoot. That was the deal, was it not?”

He grinned, and didn’t disappoint.

Diamond City Security joined the fray, and we made short work of the mutants. We continued, our voices quieter, but I was curious. “You don’t approve of the Minutemen?”

“Sure I approve. Bunch of people looking out for each other, trying to help who they can. It’s just silly to think anyone can actually save the world.”

Further debate was forestalled by a trio of wild mongrels, quickly put down. We finished our journey quickly and quietly, entering the relative safety of Goodneighbor and going straight to the Old State House. I doubted Hancock would be awake, but I was wrong. He was, however, clearly just sobering up.

“Well. If it ain’t Bobbi’s little patsy.”

There was no malice to his greeting, but I wasn’t fond of the descriptor nonetheless. “That implies I knew her goal beforehand, which is not the case.”

“Relax, you helped take her down, we’re good. Just business as usual for Goodneighbor.” He sighed, “Lemme tell ya. This classy little tricorn hat of mine is getting heavy.”

This was probably the last direction I’d expected our conversation to take. “How do you mean?”

“I spend all my time putting down the people I would’ve been proud to scheme with just a few years ago. Am I turning into the man? Some kind of tyrant?”

“It’s best I don’t answer that.”

He smirked. “Says the General. But you may be right. I need to take a walk again. Get a grip on what really matters; living free.”

“You aren’t suggesting the mayor simply abandon his office?”

He smiled, “Hey, the mayor’s still the mayor, whether he’s “in residence” or not. I’ve walked out of here plenty of times. Keeps me honest. Can’t let power get to my head. That’s not what being in charge of Goodneighbor is about. Besides, you’re one to talk. Not like you’re on Minutemen business right now, is it?”

The first time I met Hancock, he killed a man for verbally threatening his authority. It was not a particularly positive first impression. Further interactions have only served to muddle the picture of the man. He’s strangely beloved by the residents of his town, criminals and drifters, outcasts all. Valentine knows him and doesn’t seem think poorly of him, simply wary.

Well. He had a point, it was high time I got back to Minutemen business. And, if the mayor was truly sincere in his desire to leave the town… “Fitting you should mention the Minutemen. If you truly want to do something different, MacCready and I are on our way to stop super mutants harassing a settlement.”

“Oh boy,” MacCready muttered. He realized we’d heard him. “I mean mutants. Not going to say no to the coolest ghoul in the Commonwealth coming along.”

“MacCready, huh?” Hancock sounded impressed, “Hell of a gun to have at your back.”

The sharpshooter smiled, “I aim to please.” I did not dignify the pun with a response.

Hancock thought for a moment. “I like it. You might be just the right kind of trouble.”

I wasn’t sure how to take his comment. “Trouble?”

Hancock’s grin somehow manages to be slightly sinister, no matter the occasion. “Hell, everything you’ve done? Trouble seems to find you, no matter what. I’ll say a few words to my community in the morning, and we’ll head out.”

MacCready insisted on a drink before retiring for what remained of the night. He was in a particularly talkative mood, telling me about his past. He’s proud of being a self-taught marksman, and grew up in a community of children in the Capital Wasteland. He was even Mayor. He left to wander at the age of sixteen, as per the community’s ‘no adults’ policy, and eventually made his way to the Commonwealth where he heard the Gunners were recruiting. He described agreeing to work for them as the biggest mistake of his life. He may be a mercenary, but he has a code of conduct. Killing anything that moves is not part of it. He felt I deserved to know more about who I was traveling with, and admitted that even though he tends to be arrogant and comes off as a lone wolf, the truth is that he has missed having someone he could depend on. Who did he depend on in the past, I wonder?

No matter. In a few hours we go south, accompanied by the Mayor of Goodneighbor, to offer aid to a farm run by a man who was secretly a synth agent of the Institute. It will certainly be a unique experience, to say the least.


	11. Warwick Homestead

The journey south was quiet, at first. Getting out of Boston does not facilitate conversation to begin with, but even so, there wasn’t much for the mercenary and the Mayor of Goodneighbor to talk about. Still, fighting raiders does bring out something of a bond between people I suppose, because once we were outside the city proper, Hancock spoke.

He apologized for the “dictatorial shit” from before, having his guards ready and waiting for Bobbi to rob him blind. He really does take the idea of everyone being allowed to do anything they please seriously. No, not anything. It’s a particular code of acceptable behavior, but a code nonetheless.

He told me about the previous mayor, some character named Vic. Overpowered scum with a squad of thugs to keep people in line. Hancock witnessed them kill a drifter in cold blood. To this day, he’s ashamed he did nothing, even though he likely would have been killed as well. Instead, what he did was nearly overdose, stole the clothes of the original John Hancock from the State House museum, convinced Kleo to loan him some weaponry and assembled a sort of drifter militia, training in the ruins. The next time Vic’s men “went on a tear,” Hancock and his army burst from the windows and rafters where they’d been hiding. It was a coup; Vic’s men were slaughtered, and the former Mayor hung from the balcony of the Old State House.

As he stood there, looking at all the people of Goodneighbor assembled below, the newly christened Hancock said the words that would become his city’s motto; Of the people, for the people. They made him Mayor on the spot.

He finished with the declaration, “I just hope you get where I’m coming from. I ain’t out to bring harm to anyone that didn’t earn it.”

I remained slightly skeptical, “Our definitions of ‘earning it’ may differ.”

“Nah, we’re on the same page.” He grinned, “I’m just a bit more straightforward in dealing out the punishment, that’s all.”

Warwick Homestead is on the point of a peninsula east of Quincy. To our benefit, the Gunners still inhabiting the town were locked in battle with the Brotherhood of Steel, giving us the opportunity to sneak around the town undetected. As we made our way down the peninsula, I said, “I should warn you, I’m not certain what sort of reception we’ll receive.”

“Well, that’s encouraging,” MacCready quipped.

“Spill, Trouble,” Hancock said. “These people asked for your help, right? So what gives?”

“They asked for the Minutemen’s help. It is an important distinction.” I explained, “Our destination is Warwick Homestead. The patriarch of the Warwick family is Roger Warwick, father, husband, and according to a terminal within the Bioscience division of the Institute, a synth.”

They stopped in their tracks, looked at each other, and back at me. “You mind runnin’ that by us again?” Hancock said.

I sighed, “You were both aware I was inside the Institute? That’s how I managed to blow it up.” Rolled eyes indicated I should get to the point. “Some of the scientists were experimenting with modified strains of crops, and using Warwick farm to test them. They replaced Roger Warwick with a synth agent to oversee the experiments. Everything went well apparently, Roger and the crops were to be retrieved and all evidence of the initiative purged.”

“They were going to kill everyone,” MacCready stated, disgusted. Hancock swore.

“That seems the likeliest scenario, yes.”

“Well if this guy starts shooting, he’ll be the one purged.”

“Wait a minute,” Hancock said, “the Institute’s gone, so didn’t you save this guy’s family?”

I continued walking. “Those are the two options, yes. Either Mr. Warwick will be hostile to the man who destroyed his creators, though I don’t think he’d be foolish enough to open fire, or he will be glad to spend the rest of his life with his family.”

“Hey, boss. What are the chances of a nice straightforward job with a decent payout at the end after this?”

“Slim to none, MacCready.”

“Figures.”

“You’re under no obligation, I consider our contract fulfilled.”

“Yeah, but this still beats drinking myself to death in Goodneighbor, so. Let’s go help an ex-Institute synth and his family.”

The farm is built on the remains of a sewage plant, resulting in the most fertile soil in the Commonwealth. With it comes a stomach churning aroma, but one adjusts. Roger Warwick greeted us pleasantly enough, though he clearly didn’t realize who I was. He told us about the farm, and said that after super mutants had wiped out most of their crops, he and his family were starving. “No man should watch his wife and family suffer.” The crops were restored now, but the super mutants were still a threat. He’d put out a call for help to the Minutemen, though he didn’t expect anything to come of it.

“I’m happy to say you’re wrong,” I told him. “The Minutemen have arrived. We’ll take care of those super mutants.”

He was surprised. I imagine we didn’t look anything like what he was expecting. He told us the direction the mutants had come from, and we headed out.

“Seems like a family man sort of guy,” Hancock said as we left.

“Yeah. He also doesn’t have any idea who Holmes is,” MacCready said.

Walking into danger brought out Mr. MacCready's unique brand of humor. "Hey, have you heard this one? It's about the super mutant who wondered why a rock kept getting bigger. Then it hit him. Hehe. No? Hm."

Hancock was not impressed, "Ain't the time, MacCready."

"Pff, mutants don't scare me. Been fighting them since I was a kid."

"I would have thought you'd learned a bit more caution, then," I said.

"I just kill them before they reach me," he smiled, patting his rifle fondly.

He proved his point by taking down the super mutant on guard from a great distance. Hancock and I took the lead while MacCready supported us from behind. "Super mutants didn't just fall out of the ugly tree, they were dropped on it from low orbit."

That at least got a scoff from the Mayor, "Can you imagine what the Commonwealth would look like if these things had any brains?"

"Lucky for us, there's nothing dumber than an angry super mutant."

"I don't mind the commentary as long as you keep your voice down," I said.

"Got it, boss," he said in a loud whisper. I honestly don't know if he was being sarcastic or seriously thought he was following instructions.

It didn't last long, either way. "Heard that super mutants like to take prisoners. Don't even want to know what happens to them."

"Rather eat my own gun than get captured by mutants," Hancock grumbled. "Brutal bastards."

"Saw a super mutant rip the limbs off of someone while they were still alive. Never going to get _that_ image out of my head."

"Ain't helping, Mac."

We were successful in clearing out the mutants, but it was well past nightfall by the time we returned to the homestead. A trader had stopped for the night as well, setting up camp with her brahmin near the gate. I recognized her as Cricket, a somewhat deranged merchant who specializes in anything designed to do damage to living things. She was also one of the Institute’s informants regarding escaped synths. Ironic she would still stop here. Warwick was waiting on the steps of the treatment plant, converted into a living space. We could hear the family inside, cleaning up and preparing for bed.

He was hopeful, but also wary. “You’re back. Either you haven’t taken out the mutants, or… good news?”

“Super mutants won’t be bothering you again. At least, not that particular group,” I said.

He breathed a sigh of relief, “Thank you. That’s great to hear. I guess the Minutemen really are here to help.” He stepped down, and gestured we follow him, leading us a little away from the door. “Cricket told me she saw the General of the Minutemen headed out from here, with the Mayor of Goodneighbor and some mercenary.”

“Some merc,” MacCready drawled with a grin, “great.”

“You’re him,” Warwick pressed, “the one who destroyed the Institute.” It was a simple statement, waiting for a simple answer.

So, I gave it to him. “Yes.”

He was quiet a moment, then said, “Well. Thanks.”

It wasn’t quite the reaction I’d expected. “You’re welcome… Mr. Warwick, I know about your purpose here on this farm. I had a chance to explore every department of the Institute, including BioScience.”

His expression hardened. “Whatever you want, I’ll do it, but just leave my family out of -”

“Whoa, slow down, brother,” Hancock stopped him, “it ain’t like that.”

“Could be like that,” MacCready muttered.

“Ignore the mercenary,” I said. “I only brought it up because I want to know if you need help. Is your cover secure, are you happy here?”

Warwick couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “… yes, everything’s fine. There was some trouble before - Bill, our foreman, he was getting suspicious, started trying to turn my wife and kids against me, but then with the Institute gone and the trouble with the mutants, it all sort of stopped. I guess he figured there wasn’t much point in splitting us up anymore.”

“We could get rid of him, just in case,” MacCready said. “I don’t care if you’re metal or flesh, no one should split apart your family.”

Warwick wasn’t sure if he was serious or not. “That’s not necessary, I think everything’s going to be fine.” He looked at me, “And yes, I am happy here. I know I’m not… they’re still my family.”

I nodded. “Good. If you need anything, there’s a Minutemen checkpoint north of here, near Neponset Park.”

“Thank you.” He smiled, “It’s a relief not to worry about any more late night secret meetings, waiting for every visitor to say a passphrase, all that nonsense. Now I can just live. Anyway. Come on inside, we’ve got a few spare sleeping bags set up for you.”

 

MacCready was asleep, snoring lightly, while Hancock made a quick walk around the farm. All three of us are dissatisfied with the farm’s defense systems, or lack thereof, which I intend to remedy in the morning. Hancock returned and quietly snuck past the sleeping family to join me in our far corner.

“Hey,” he kept his voice low, “you look like you could use this.” He offered an inhaler of jet.

“Tempting, but no, thank you.”

He shrugged, sitting down next to me. “Suit yourself. You look like your head’s running a million miles a minute.”

“It usually is. Had you offered mentats, I may have taken you up on it.”

“Fortunately for you,” he produced a pack, half empty, from inside his coat, “I keep a personal stash. Happens to be my ride of choice, too. Makes me feel intellectual.”

I nearly laughed, and accepted one.

“You’re somethin’ else,” he said with a bewildered shake of his head. “Not a lot of folks would travel with a ghoul, even one with my kinda charisma. Hell, that business when we met, with Finn? I thought I was trying to protect some drifter from getting taken for everything they had. Didn’t know I was meeting a goddamn superhero.”

I scoffed. “I was hardly a superhero, and I’m certainly not one now.”

“Eh. These days, there’s too many good folks not willing to get their hands dirty and too many assholes taking advantage of it. Look at what happened to Diamond City. Before McDonough took over, it was a half-decent place to live. A little stricter than I usually go for, but not terrible.”

Valentine had mentioned Hancock was originally from Diamond City. “You grew up there?”

“Yeah, I thought he and I had a pretty happy childhood. But then he decides he’s gonna try and get elected with his anti-ghoul crusade - “Mankind for McDonough.” Before ya know it, you got families with kids lining up to drag folks they called “neighbor” out of their homes and throw 'em to the ruins.”

The facts fell into place. “You’re his brother.”

He nodded. “I remember storming into his office above the stands after the inauguration speech. He was just standing there, staring out the window, watching as the city turned on the ghouls. He didn’t even look at me, just said: “I did it, John. It’s finally mine.” Should have killed him right there, but I don’t think it would have changed anything. Instead I pleaded with him, begged him to call it off. He said he couldn’t. He had nothing against the ghouls, he was just carrying out the will of the people and he couldn’t betray the voters. And then he smiled. That hideous, fucking mile-long smile. He never smiled like that when we were kids. I didn’t even recognize him.”

I hesitated a moment. “Hancock. Did you hear about -”

“Yeah, yeah, I heard. Guess everything makes sense now, knowing that he was with the Institute, but honestly? I think I’m even more angry. I mean, where do I draw the line? Was the guy I grew up with the amoral piece of trash who gave the ghouls the boot or was that just some synth makin’ a play for the city? Have I been hatin’ the guy all these years for nothin’? Almost makes me wish I didn’t know. At the time though, I just couldn’t wait to get away from him and his whole damn constituency. I still wasn’t a ghoul at this point, so I didn’t have to leave, but I couldn’t bring myself to stay in that cesspool after that. I’d been sneakin’ off to Goodneighbor for years to get decent chems, so I knew the safe routes. I managed to track down a couple of the families, lead 'em there, but most couldn’t get used to the Goodneighbor lifestyle. I brought them food for a couple of weeks, but after a while, they just disappeared. Folks in Diamond City signed their death warrants and all the good people were willing to just sit by and watch. I felt like I was the only one who saw how screwed up things truly were, who couldn’t just pretend things were fine.” He sighed, “I know I run my mouth, but having someone who sees the world for what it is and is willing to do something about it? It’s meant a lot to me. I feel damn lucky to have you as a friend.”

I was surprised. “Friend?”

“That ain’t a term I toss around lightly. It doesn’t take much to see you’re my kind of freakshow.”

“As flattering as that is, I’m still trying to decide what I think of you, Hancock.”

He laughed. “I’ll take it. Anyway, thanks for hearing me out. You probably weren’t looking for a history lesson, were ya?”

“On the contrary. I’m consistently amazed by the people who inexplicably decide I’m - how did you put it? Their sort of freakshow.”

“Can you blame us?” He lied down, a hand behind his head, hat tipped over his eyes.

I thought for a while longer, digesting everything Hancock had told me. As I watched the family sleeping nearby, the men without families beside me, I suddenly had a desperate urge to return home to mine. In all my years of long stakeouts, cases that took me away from my wife for days, occasionally weeks, I never once felt homesick. Not like this. I always knew she would be waiting. It was a horribly naive certainty, but no one would have blamed me for it then. In this world, where nothing is ever certain…

The fatigue following the mentat wearing off was the perfect excuse to lie down and, for once, I slept when I wanted to.


	12. Explanations

Hancock was disappointed with my decision to return to Diamond City, but laughed when I offered to introduce him to the family. “You have fun bein’ domestic. Let me know when you want to cause a little trouble again.” MacCready offered to escort the mayor back to Goodneighbor for a nominal fee. I told him to put it on my tab, and the two of them headed north.

I went home. I was greeted by an enthusiastic boy knocking the wind out of me. Codsworth’s greeting was much more refined, though just as warm. He inquired if I’d eaten in the past few days. I assured him I had, but a light meal would be welcome, which pleased him.

Shaun was doing homework at the dining table. Miss Edna is constantly trying to find ways to challenge him, a task in which she takes a great deal of delight, I believe. He explained what he was learning, told me everything that had happened at school since I’d been gone and all the games he and Nat had invented. Nat nearly got in trouble for drawing chalk pictures on a security guard she found dozing at his post, but she ran to Shaun and Codsworth in the market and hid. Codsworth, of all people, covered for her. “Shouldn’t have been sleeping on the job,” Codsworth huffed as Shaun told the story. It was a pleasant evening.

Once Shaun was asleep, I took a short walk across town. My heart raced even as I forced my pace to remain steady as I passed under the Agency’s neon sign. Valentine was going through files at the front desk, cigarette in hand.

“Welcome back,” he said, flatly. “Just get in?”

“Earlier today. Where’s Ellie?”

“You just missed her, gave her the rest of the night off. Business has been slow, hence the cold case files,” he gestured to the stack on the desk, then looked at me. “You alright?”

I sat down across from him. “May we talk?”

“Sure.” He shoved the files to the side, “Hell, I’ve been hoping to since Goodneighbor. I know it didn’t seem that way last time I saw you -”

“Wait. Please.”

I tried to explain. It was difficult. My mind rebels at stagnation, give me brainwork, all the same lines I’ve constantly fallen back on anytime anyone needed an explanation, anytime I wanted to warn without scaring away, the lines that worked on my best friend for years before the end of the world… these were ash in my mouth.

I tried to explain. The gears constantly turning. The horrible discontent at being still, the drive to accomplish literally anything if it stops me from thinking, the engine threatening to tear itself apart from constantly running with nowhere for the energy to go… I told him how terrified I was that Shaun would one day see me at my worst. How the demon of addiction, long dormant, seemed to stir a little more every day living next to a damn chem shop, how even though my wife incomprehensibly loved me and I her, I am certain it would have come crashing down had the world not ended. “Black moods,” she called them. Days of utter depression, desperate for any sort of active mental distraction, restless, the observation of everyday imperfections rendered into hyperbolic despair.

I tried to explain why I had leaped at the merest hint of a mystery, at a mere complication in Goodneighbor. I tried to explain why I was there in front of him, telling him this. Why it was so  _ important _  he, of all people, understand...

Eyes are said to be windows to the soul. Perhaps this is why so many people are unnerved by Valentine, the fear of synths aside. His eyes are yellow lights of unreflective, unemotional circuitry. His expressions are a muted mimicry of human range, limited by the physical confines of synthetic construction. I know this to be accurate, logical fact, and yet something in me is disgusted that I have put those words to paper. That I would even consider describing him in such a way.

He listened. I don’t know what I expected. I couldn’t have stood pity or a poor attempt at commiserating. Advice would have enraged me, fear or disgust or simple distant friendliness would have killed me. He reacted with none of these. He let me talk. He listened, his focus never leaving me for a moment. When I had finished, he was silent for a time.

“You know,” he finally spoke, “you’re the only person I’ve met in this world who really seemed like they could rise above it, and, well. I was worried. The Commonwealth does things to people. Makes monsters out of men. I see my best friend suddenly get an urge to take up with mercs and mob bosses, without explanation, I’m bound to get concerned… and I’m sorry I doubted you.”

I winced, “Don’t, Valentine, please -”

“Hang on.” He was stern, “I want you to know I count myself real lucky you pulled me out of that vault, back when we first met. Not just for the rescue, but that it was you, specifically, that did the rescuing. I don’t understand everything you’re describing. Guess I probably never will. But I’m  _ glad _ you told me, that you’d trust me with this. So… thanks,” he smiled, “partner.”

I was stunned. “You’re welcome.”

Silence settled once again, broken by the strike of a match as he lit another cigarette, sliding the pack to me across the desk. “Shaun’s eager to visit Sanctuary, again,” he said. “Seems a family trip might not be a bad idea? Kid’s got a lot more stamina than the average ten year old boy. Made it down here to Diamond City just fine, should be good in the reverse, especially if we hook up with a trade caravan along the way. Extra eyes, extra guards.”

I smiled at the ‘we,’ stated as if it were an obvious fact. “I could summon a brigade of Minutemen to escort us if we wanted.”

He scoffed, “Whole brigade would just be showing off.”

In the end, I recruited the Minutemen already in Diamond City to the cause. They were amused, and happy to help. We’ll set off tomorrow; two Minutemen, Shaun, Dogmeat, and Valentine. I asked Codsworth if he would come, but he declined, preferring to keep the house in order, "defending the home front," as he put it. He did ask me to invite Sturges to tea. By the time Sturges accepts, Codsworth might have concocted something that tastes similar.


	13. Sanctuary

We made good time to Sanctuary, arriving just as the day started to dim. Preston met us at the bridge. “Good to see you, General!”

“Preston!” We shook hands, “I see things have been going well. Some of the houses look practically whole, and there are a few faces I don’t recognize.”

“Things are going great, General. I’ll give you the grand tour in a bit. Hello, Shaun, Nick - hey, boy!” He knelt down to give Dogmeat a scratch along his neck, sending the dog’s tail wagging furiously.

“Do I have to call you Colonel?” Shaun asked.

Preston chuckled, “You can call me Preston. Oh, before I forget, General, Curie will want to see you. She’s been hard at work on some sort of discovery involving mutfruit and stimpaks -”

“Monsieur Holmes!” Curie’s voice rang out over Sanctuary. She was more excited than I’d ever seen her, running up to take my hand, “I am so glad to see you! I have done it! This great experiment, I have felt inspiration! Come, let me show you!”

“I’ll meet you at the training grounds!” Preston called as I managed to reclaim control of my hand while following her.

Her breakthrough truly was impressive, improving the restorative properties of stimpaks. Not earthshaking, perhaps, but a promising start. Most importantly, it was a clear demonstration that independent inspiration is something she can feel and process, despite starting her existence as a robot. She thanked me, a thousand times over, for making it possible.

Curie started to walk with me, but was called away by Sturges, deep in conversation with Shaun. I imagine the topic of discussion was Shaun’s desire to ‘fix’ Valentine. I continued on my own to the training ground, still unfinished, but clearly in use. Half a dozen men and women in Minutemen uniform stood at attention in an open area on the western side of town, the trees just recently cleared. Danse stood before them, every bit the officer before his troops.

“I’m impressed,” he said. “You’ve gone above and beyond my expectations for your performance these past few weeks,” he walked down the line, pausing at the last soldier for dramatic effect, “which means I’m clearly not training you hard enough.” To their credit, not a single soldier reacted. Danse resumed his position front and center, “General. I was just about to dismiss them for the evening.”

“By all means, Lt. Col. I’m here for a few days, there will be plenty of time for you to show me what they can do.”

If I hadn’t been watching for it, I would have missed his grin. “Yes, sir. You are dismissed.”

All six recruits instantly relaxed with a sigh of relief and made their way into town, acknowledging me with a quick greeting as they passed. Danse followed. “Garvey told me you were coming. You made good time.”

“Yes, it was uneventful… where is Preston, he said to meet him here.”

“He was distracted by your son.”

I turned and saw them approaching. Shaun’s pace increased as they got closer, “Danse! I mean, lieutenant colonel, I guess. I asked Preston and he said you should be the one to help with something but it’s for my dad and he can’t know what it is.”

I chuckled at the sight of a ten-year-old boy eagerly attempting to be conspiratorial with a soldier in power armor. Danse’s brow furrowed. “I don’t understand what you’re asking, but if it’s something your father can’t know about, we probably shouldn’t try to talk about it in his presence.”

“Well, he knows I’m working on a surprise, but he doesn’t know what it is.”

“Let’s keep it that way. Explain it to me tomorrow.”

Preston laughed, “Come on, Shaun, let’s get you some supper. One of the new settlers turned out to be a heck of a cook.”

Danse and I followed at a slower pace. “You seem in your element,” I said.

“The situation has improved since you were last here. I wasn’t sure anyone would accept me as any sort of authority,” he admitted, “but I think I’ve established a solid foundation with the recruits. The settlers are at least welcoming, for the most part. Polite, if not friendly, which is far more than I expected. The Minutemen cause is a noble one. As long as it doesn’t fall into disorganization or become too charitable for its own good, there’s a decent chance it will succeed.”

“I’m glad to hear it. How are you getting along with the Colonel?”

“Garvey is bearable.” At my skeptical expression, he sighed. “Garvey is a capable soldier, and a skilled commander in combat. He took control during the last raider attack with ease and efficiency. The raiders didn’t stand a chance. However, he completely lacks the sort of authoritative discipline I expect from a commanding officer.”

“Your last one did rely a great deal on charismatic speeches and glowering.”

He laughed, sudden and surprised. “Yes. It’s strange to take orders from a man who speaks softly and expects his order to be challenged, rather than obeyed.”

“That’s part of the reason I asked you to do this, Danse. Preston needs someone to support his command, and someone he can turn to for honest advice.”

“I don’t think there’s much chance of him coming to me for advice.”

“Give it time.”

We found the settlement’s residents gathered at a recently constructed restaurant, of a sort. More of a mess hall, fitting with Sanctuary’s new military purpose, but open to everyone. Valentine stood outside it.

“Garvey mentioned you were bringing the family,” Danse said, leaving his question unspoken.

It was a question I had been asking myself of late. “Honestly, a family trip was Valentine’s idea. Codsworth elected to remain behind, though that reminds me to invite Sturges to tea on his behalf.”

Danse frowned, processing the fact that I’d just indirectly claimed Valentine as a part of the family. Well, why shouldn’t I? I expected some sort of comment or protest, or at the very least a question of clarification, but my third in command surprised me. “Tea?”

I smiled, strangely proud. “It’s a joke between them - Valentine, do you know where -”

“Shaun’s already inside with Sturges, Preston, and Curie, trying to figure out a way to fix my face,” he said with a smile. “Futile effort, but I appreciate the sentiment. Danse.”

Valentine’s greeting was laced with its usual polite wariness, but this time Danse’s was simple acknowledgement. “Valentine.”

I gestured we go inside and join the rest. The remainder of the evening was simple camaraderie. Shaun was full of questions for everyone, and the Minutemen and settlers had questions of their own for the General, and the detectives. Publick Occurrences has even made its way up here. Piper will be pleased.

Now Shaun sleeps in his childhood room, and I sit on the sofa in what used to be my living room. Valentine is seeing to the maintenance of his right hand beside me. I’m almost convinced it doesn’t actually need fixing, but is more of a meditative habit than anything else. Then again, it is exposed, while the left hand is not, and thus likely suffers more daily wear and tear. Perhaps a bit of both, then.

I’m starting to ramble, clearly I need sleep.


	14. Twenty Caps on the Lt. Col

I watched the Minutemen train with great interest, and was suitably impressed. Preston found me as Danse dismissed the troops midday. He wanted to discuss plans for further construction, and converting the Red Rocket station to the south into a small side settlement. It’s already on the trade route, and could be used as a barracks once more recruits start coming.

Once ideas had been discussed, we strolled along his usual patrol route, pausing by the river. “I see you and Danse haven’t murdered each other yet,” I said.

He scoffed, “Nearly did the first week. It was rough. Still sort of is, we didn’t exactly hit it off. I don’t like the Brotherhood. Took me a while to separate the man from the cause, even if Maxson did banish him.”

“More than banish, Preston. He’s as good as dead.”

“Which is why everyone here knows not to mention his name, ever. Lt. Col. Danse is just ‘the Lieutenant Colonel’ to the rest of the world. You know the first thing he tells the new recruits? We don’t have many of them, yet, but first thing he tells all of them is a big speech on how his job is to give them the training they need to respond to any call across the Commonwealth, preserving not just humanity but the lives of all people. He’s still a big believer in technology being dangerous in the wrong hands, don’t think that’s ever going to go away. And he really isn’t comfortable around ghouls. You should have seen him the first time he met Al -”

“Al?”

“The Vault Tec man you sent here. Runs the general store?” He paused, “You had no idea what his name was, did you?”

“It never came up, before the War or after.”

“Yeah, I guess it wouldn’t. Well, Danse did a hell of a job reigning in all his Brotherhood habits, I’ll give him that, but it took about two weeks before he could even acknowledge the man responsible for most of the settlement’s trade deals. You know what did it? Trashcan Carla making an insult about the effect turning ghoul had on his... anatomy, while they were dealing. All of a sudden there’s a man in power armor holding a laser rifle right behind him. Asks if it’s really necessary that we do business with her, Al’s still in full salesman mode, doesn’t miss a beat and says ‘Need to? Not at all. It would be convenient, but there are plenty of other traders willing to do business with a ghoul, especially one with connections to the hero of the Commonwealth. And they manage to be polite about it.’”

I laughed.

“I’m not kidding! Carla’s flustered a moment, then shrugs and gives a counter offer. Danse moves on, Al gets what he wants at less than he expected, hurries to find Danse on patrol and says thanks. ‘Brotherhood soldiers don’t usually care about ghouls.’ Danse nods once, says,‘True, but I’m not a Brotherhood soldier anymore, and you’re a part of the settlement I gave my word I’d protect.’ He still thinks ghouls in general are things to be avoided at best, filthy abominations at worst, depending on the day of the week, but god help the man who speaks ill of Al.”

“Do the new recruits know he’s a synth?”

Preston huffed, “Everyone knows. I don’t know how, but the fact that he’s a synth was the worst kept secret ever. He doesn’t tell anyone, but he also doesn’t bother denying it if it comes up. One recruit left when he found out, but came back two days later. Apologized, asked Danse to give him another chance, and he did.” Preston’s voice became a little deeper, his enunciation more clipped, “‘Everyone deserves a second chance, soldier. Go AWOL again and I’ll have you build a cell just to put you in it.’”

I smiled, “He’s popular and you don’t understand why.”

“Yes!” Preston’s exasperation was stopped by the sound of laser fire from the direction of the training grounds. “I thought Danse dismissed them for an hour.”

We hurried over to find Shaun holding a rifle to his shoulder, Danse kneeling beside him, watching carefully and adjusting his position. The Minutemen recruits had gathered to watch, as well as any settlers who had been nearby. A target was set up at a distance appropriate for a novice. Shaun’s next shot was just shy of the bulls-eye.

Danse stood, visibly pleased. “Outstanding, Shaun. You follow direction perfectly. Now listen, this is very important; knowing how to properly handle a weapon is not the same as knowing how to fight.”

“I know that, Danse.” I noticed my son and Natalie Wright are starting to sound very similar when they feel they’re being patronized.

“I’m sure you do, but you’re also ten. You’re just as likely to do something sensible as dangerous, even with the best of intentions.”

“Were you like that when you were ten?”

Danse was still for a moment, glancing at the crowd. With a look of sudden decision, he said, “I never was ten. I’m a synth. But, I have memories of being ten, even though they aren’t real. If those memories are any indication of the child I might have been, then I was the sort of kid who would run across a mirelurk’s shell to get away from a pack of dogs.”

Shaun giggled, “Is that really a memory?”

“It is, actually. It was stupid, but it worked. The dogs were certainly surprised when the mirelurk burst out of the muck.”

Shaun laughed. Danse smiled. Everyone watching chuckled and grinned amongst themselves, the hardened Lt. Col. showing a bit of heart.

Preston could hardly believe it. “There really is a person under all that armor.”

“That was my reaction the first time I had a personal conversation with the man,” I said.

Preston sighed, laughing softly. “Fine. I’ll… try.”

“Good,” I said, and then strode forward with my best ‘General’ act. “Lieutenant Colonel Danse.” I was torn between laughing and flinching to see him automatically go to attention. “What the devil are you teaching my son?”

Shaun leaped to his defense, “I asked him to help with the surprise, I needed to test it and asked him to show me how to shoot so  -”

I couldn’t keep it up. I smiled and knelt down in front of him, “I’m not angry, son. Calm down.”

“Oh. But - oh.” His expression was that unique combination of love, embarrassment, and exasperation with their elders that all children seem to master at a young age. “Dad.”

“Is it ready?”

“Oh! Yeah. See?” he presented the rifle proudly. “I made it out of all the things you’ve been bringing me, the old junk I kept asking for.”

“It’s incredible.” I wasn’t exaggerating. It was an effective weapon, and an impressive feat for anyone, let alone a ten year old. I squeezed his shoulder, “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” he smiled, pleased. “Um. If you’re not really mad at Danse…”

“Ah, yes,” I stood up, amused. “Do you want to learn more?”

“Can I?”

“If Danse doesn’t object to teaching you.”

“I have no objection, sir,” he was deadpan, but finished with, “he’s already better than the last Initiate I had in the Brotherhood.”

I feigned offense, “That last Initiate went on to become Knight under your sponsorship, I believe.”

“True, then he betrayed the Brotherhood by letting a known synth live. A shame really, he still had a lot to learn.”

“Ha! I was promoted after that betrayal, a promotion you insisted I keep!”

“I stand by my statement. What sort of general chooses to assault an underground stronghold with a ragtag militia instead of a proper military force?”

“A successful one, apparently.”

“Dad? What’s going on?”

“What’s going on, Shaun, is Lieutenant Colonel Danse is trying to goad his General into a shooting match.”

“I would never goad a commanding officer into anything. Sir.”

“Twenty caps on the Lt. Col,” Valentine said from behind me.

I turned, shocked. “What!?”

Preston was trying very hard not to laugh as Valentine lit a cigarette beside him. “You’re a trick shot with pistols, but rifles? Danse has got you beat.”

It quickly escalated into an event. As Valentine predicted, Danse won, though it was a close contest. Training picked up where it left off once we were done, and Shaun, Valentine, and I spent the rest of the day wandering the settlement and its immediate surroundings, talking to everyone, helping wherever we could. I went up to the Vault. It only seemed fitting I pay my respects.

I thanked Valentine for suggesting we come here. This has been a chance to ground myself again, to refocus on my son, on my friend. Friends. I’m glad I went to Diamond City, that I’ve made a home there, but it is good to know Sanctuary is thriving.


	15. MacCready's Case

We arrived back at Diamond City in the early evening. I thanked our Minutemen escorts, who had proved engaging travel companions as well as guards, and returned home to find MacCready sitting in front of my door.

“Finally,” he groaned as he stood, “I was bored out of my mind.” He looked at Valentine behind me, “Oh, damn, I should have picked up some motor oil for your friend.”

“Cute, MacCready,” Valentine drawled, “you come up with that by yourself?”

Shaun took my hand, curious but wary. MacCready noticed him, and suddenly softened. “Boss, we gotta talk. I figured if I waited here for you to get back, then I wouldn’t change my mind, but…”

“Meet me at the Valentine Detective Agency in an hour.”

“Really?”

“You want to have a discreet conversation with me, sooner rather than later, yes?”

He reluctantly agreed. Codsworth provided a few clarifying details; MacCready had arrived the day before, asked where I was, and refused to say what his business with me was. He then began his wait. He must have taken a room at the Dugout overnight, as he wasn’t present between the hours of midnight and five, but he was right back at his post with the sunrise. He only left to get something to eat at Takahashi’s once, and after that Codsworth, seeing he was determined, offered him refreshment on a regular basis. He even invited him inside, but MacCready declined.

Valentine was puzzled, and suspicious. “What’s the story with this guy?” he asked as we headed over to the Agency.

“He is a self taught sniper who grew up in a children’s colony called Little Lamplight in the Capital Wasteland. He left when he was sixteen as per the no-adults policy. He worked for the Gunners because they paid well, but quit when he saw Gunner behavior first hand. He is a freelance mercenary with a code of honor.”

“Thought ‘honorable merc’ was an oxymoron.”

“Mm, ‘honor’ may have been too generous a word, but he does have a definite code of behavior at least.”

Ellie was glad to see us, and said no new clients had shown up in our absence. “We may be about to get one, of a sort,” I replied, leaning on the desk as Valentine sat down. I lit a cigarette, “A mercenary of my acquaintance seems to be in trouble.”

“Any idea what the trouble is?” Ellie asked.

“None.”

We soon found out. MacCready walked in and frowned, “If I wanted an audience, we could have met at a bar.”

“Mr. MacCready, if you are so desperate for my assistance that you would wait outside my door for an entire day, then you need all the help you can get.”

“It’s not like that, exactly. The reason I wanted to come to you is, well, you stuck your neck out for me and I don’t forget shit… err, I mean things like that.”

“A merc who doesn’t curse?” Valentine was amused.

MacCready scowled, “I made a promise…” he trailed off, and suddenly seemed very tired. He focused all his attention on me. “When I left the Capital Wasteland, I didn’t just leave Little Lamplight behind… I left my family behind. Had a beautiful wife named Lucy… and a son we named Duncan. He’s the one that I made my promise to… a promise to clean up my act and to be a better person. I guess that sounds pretty stupid coming from a guy who shoots people for a living.”

Everyone was too surprised to say anything for a moment. “Why did you leave?” I asked.

“Didn’t have a choice. At least, that’s what I keep telling myself. My son… he’s sick. I don’t know what’s wrong with him. One day, he’s playing out in the fields behind our farm… the next he took a fever and these blue boils popped up all over his body. Last I saw he was almost too weak to walk. I didn’t dare ask him to come with me. It’s eating him away from the inside. Honestly, I don’t know how much longer he’s going to last.”

“No doctor can help?” Ellie asked.

“Every doctor I’ve talked to was worthless. They never even heard of the disease.” He sighed, frustrated, “You’ve already done so much for me, I feel horrible asking for more. But if you’re willing to risk it, I might have a way we could save him.”

The choice was obvious. “Tell me everything.”

He told us about a man named Sinclair whose friend had caught the same disease. They’d found some information about a cure at the Med-Tek Research facility, and even tracked down the building’s security codes, but the friend died before an attempt could be made to retrieve the medicine. It was too specific to be a scam, or a coincidence.

“Med-Tek Research,” Valentine said, thoughtfully. “It’s a place to start at least. Hate to leave you hanging so soon after getting back, Ellie -”

“Are you kidding? If you didn’t leave right away, I was going to quit!”

“Hang on,” MacCready was confused, “why are you coming?”

“Your kid’s in trouble, and if you haven’t grabbed that cure from Med-Tek on your own by now, that means it’s going to be a hell of a fight. You gonna turn away an extra gun?”

He was seriously considering it, but ultimately shrugged in frustration, “Fine.”

“Good,” I put out my cigarette and grabbed my hat. “Let me drop by the house first and we’ll be off.”

“You good to go right away after a long walk from Sanctuary?” Valentine asked, even as he followed me.

“There’s no time to lose.”

 

Med-Tek Research was surrounded by ferals.

“This is why I haven’t gotten it by myself,” MacCready muttered. “There are even more inside. Hey, maybe there’s a benefit to bringing a synth. I mean, not like there’s anything on you to chew. You could -”

Valentine scoffed, “First time I met a feral, I hoped it would ignore me because I wasn’t made of meat. Turns out, they’ll eat anything.”

“Of course they will,” MacCready sighed. “Can’t blame me for trying.”

“I appreciate you changed your mind after finding out they’d still try to eat me.”

“Yeah, well, the boss likes you.” He aimed his rifle. “You guys ready?”

Between the three of us, the ferals were dispatched and the way made clear for us to head inside. I thought nothing of the ferals at first - many medical facilities are often filled with ferals, due to the population being unable to escape when the bombs fell. However, Med-Tek had a more sinister background.

The facility was in lockdown; our initial task was to find the executive terminal and turn it off so that we could proceed into the labs. After a hard fight through countless ravaging feral ghouls roaming the dilapidated and darkened halls, we found the terminal. I lifted the lockdown… and paused to look at the data I’d found.

“Come on, we don’t have time,” MacCready impatiently whispered. He was right, and I’d seen more than enough. We made our way down to the sub-level, where the bulk of the research was done. A nauseating smell assaulted us; it was clear we were the first people to descend in likely centuries. We soon realized, however, that there were quite a few people who had never left. We found a series of rooms, all sealed, all with ferals inside.

“Must have been locked up in here when the bombs fell,” Valentine said, “but why?”

“The terminal in the executive office,” I explained, “recorded an authorization of lethal force on anyone who tried to escape the facility after it was put in lockdown, anticipating the War. The executive then made his own escape.” I didn’t bother trying to contain my disgust, “The terminal also recorded patient procurement costs rising.”

“They were bought!?” Valentine was outraged.

“And experimented on, likely without consent. Then left to die, locked away.”

“Only they didn’t die.” MacCready fumed, “What the hell was wrong with these doctors? How could they just “switch off” their morality?!”

“I don’t think it was called the “Hippocratic Suggestion,”” Valentine agreed.

“I’m in full agreement,” I said, “but there were a great many things before the War that would put the criminal activities of the Commonwealth to shame. It just took the world ending to bring them to light. Come, let’s find the one bright point in this godforsaken place.”

In a lab on the lowest level was a single small red syringe labeled Prevent; the miracle cure. MacCready was overwhelmed. “We did it… holy crap, we actually did it! We just gave Duncan a fighting chance to live. I don’t know how I’ll ever be able to pay you back for this… I owe you big time.”

“Still balancing the books?” I asked, bemused.

He grinned a little, “Always.”

“You just worry about getting that cure to your boy,” Valentine said. “That’ll be payment enough.”

He was touched, “Thanks. I'm… I’m getting tired of taking instead of giving. Maybe one day I’ll learn to get my priorities straight.” He took a breath, “Anyway, the last step ahead of us is getting the cure to Daisy in Goodneighbor. With her caravan contacts, she’s the only one I trust to get this to Duncan on time. This is the last favor I’m going to ask, I promise.”

We got out of that horrible place, prize in hand, and ran to Goodneighbor as fast as we could. Daisy, who must sleep even less than I do, was counting her stock. She greeted MacCready fondly, a sentiment that MacCready returned, and was thrilled to hear about our success. The cure in Daisy’s capable hands, her reassurance that it would be delivered as fast as possible, and it was as if a great weight lifted from MacCready’s shoulders.

“I still can’t believe it,” he said to himself as we left the store. “Here. I know you keep saying I don’t owe you anything, but I do, more than I could ever repay, so… take this.” He handed me a carved toy soldier. “My wife Lucy gave it to me, back when we first met. I know it’s a strange reward for risking your life, but it means a lot to me.”

“A soldier?”

“Yeah. I, uh, told her I was a soldier and she made it for me. Never could bring myself to tell her the truth… that I was just a hired killer. The soldier story was the best thing I could come up with. I didn’t want to lose her because of what I was.”

“Did she ever find out the truth?”

“No. It doesn’t really matter anymore… she died a few years back.”

“May I ask how?”

“We made the mistake of holing up in a metro station one night. We didn’t know that the place was infested with ferals. They were on her before I could even fire a shot. Ripped her apart right in front of me. There was nothing I could do. Took everything I had to escape with Duncan in my arms.” He sighed, “Maybe it would have been better if we’d died there with her. I guess that’s awful to say, but sometimes…”

I understood what he meant far too well. “You miss her.”

“Damn right I do. No matter how bad things got, she was always there with a shoulder to lean on. It gave me… well, it gave me the courage I needed to press ahead… to never give up.”

“You’ve kept pressing ahead, even in her absence. You may have lost your wife, but you saved your son. Twice, now. That counts for something.”

He was quiet for a long moment. “Maybe you’re right.”

“Will you follow the caravan?” I asked.

He was surprised. “I don’t know. Didn’t think I’d get this far… I want to see my son, but between you and me, I was a lousy farmer. He’s been staying with friends of Lucy’s, but I don’t think they can take me on, too. Not sure I could stand it if they did.”

“Why not bring him to the Commonwealth?”

“Are you serious?”

“Once he’s made a full recovery, of course.”

“And then what? I’m still a hired gun living in bars and hotel rooms.”

“You could be a soldier.”

Valentine chuckled, “You sure got a thing for taking in strays.”

MacCready stared at me a moment, then looked at Valentine. “… he’s not joking?”

“I’m afraid not.”

“There are a number of settlements that would be happy to have an extra gun,” I said, “and have more than enough resources to provide for you and your son.”

“You’re serious.”

“I am. Consider it, please.”

“I will.” He laughed softly, bewildered, “You have the world’s problems on your back and here you are helping me with mine, for the third time since we met.” He stuck out his hand, “I got a lot of business to take care of before I catch that caravan.”

I shook his hand with a smile, “Good luck, Mr. MacCready. Send word to Diamond City if you need anything in the future. Or to any Minutemen base, they’ll get your message to me.”

“Thanks. You’ll be hearing from me, as soon as Duncan’s better.”

“I look forward to meeting him.”

He went back inside Daisy’s Discounts, and judging by her expression told her his plan. She gave him the information he needed, and he hurried off. She smiled at me when he left, and went back to polishing her counter.

“Well,” said Valentine, lighting a cigarette, “I’d call that a day’s work well done. Day and a half.”

“Yes. I hope the cure works.”

“If there’s any justice in the world, it will. Get a room at the Rexford or head home?”

“Neither. The Railroad has urgent business with me.”

He sighed, a cloud of smoke streaming from the gaps in his neck and jaw. “Alright, I’ll bite. How do you know that?”

“Deacon has been watching us. Drifter, no hair, sunglasses, pretending to be asleep on the bench.”

The “drifter” in question sat up in a huff, coming over to us. “Oh, come on,” Deacon scolded in a harsh whisper, “don’t blow my cover like that!”

“Change your style of sunglasses. Or better yet, don’t wear them. That would truly be a disguise.”

“I don’t think I can anymore. They might be permanently grafted to my face.”

“We’ve had a long day,” Valentine cut in. “So if you could cut to the chase, we’d appreciate it.”

“A bunch of Coursers escaped the Institute before it was destroyed, and every single one of them seems to have taken it personal. Pam managed to track one down to the Wattz Electronics building northwest of here. I’d go myself, but Carrington also got word of a synth refugee in need of rescue. He was captured by super mutants. I’m good, but not even I can be in two places at once.”

When I asked where the super mutants were located, Deacon named a scrap yard another five hour walk to the southwest. Valentine spoke before I had a chance. “I’ll take care of the rescue, you see to it that Courser isn’t going to be a problem anymore.” He turned to me, “And you head straight over to the hotel and get some damn sleep. You’ve already been up for twenty-four hours straight.”

“I’ve gone far longer than that -”

“Yeah, you’ve told me. The great detective putting his body through hell for the sake of a case, and before the War when all you had to worry about were idiots with guns you could probably do it. Nowadays, that sort of behavior will get you killed by an overgrown mosquito. I don’t have to stop to rest, and we don’t have time to argue.”

It rankled, but I conceded. Deacon handed him a care package for the synth, everything a refugee searching for the Railroad might need, and the two of them went their separate ways. I can’t stop thinking about the sheer number of ways this could go wrong. There’s no hope of my sleeping while he’s gone. I thought writing would help, but if anything I’m even more anxious now. It’s utterly irrational, I know full well that he is perfectly capable of getting a single person out of a bad situation… though there’s no way to know how many mutants are encamped, or how heavily armed they are.

Damn it, I’m worrying too much.


	16. Old Habits

I asked Hancock to come with me as I chased after Valentine. He was eager to help, and we made good time out of the city. I explained the situation, that there was a synth refugee from the Institute who had been captured by mutants. Valentine was already on his way there. When Hancock asked why I hadn’t gone with him right away, I told him I needed to rest a moment before joining him. It was a satisfactory answer, though it became clear that perhaps Valentine had been right. I was taken by surprise by a bloodbug, which was particularly embarrassing.

Hancock commented whatever rest I had hadn’t been enough. I shrugged it off. “There isn’t time, and it’s not the first occasion I’ve forced my body beyond its limits.”

“I know you’re a mentats user,” he said, pausing for a hit of jet, “but if it’s a physical boost you need, I’ve got a few buffout pills.”

Anything to get me to Valentine sooner rather than later. I’d never tried buffout before, and while the surge in energy and strength was welcome, the accompanying crash was not. Mentats helped alleviate some of it. Between the adrenaline rushes of combating overgrown insects and mongrels, and Hancock’s willingness to keep me medicated, we made it to Valentine close on his heels… and just in time to see a Brotherhood vertibird begin firing on the scrap yard the mutants had made their camp.

“Brotherhood!” Hancock swore, “They ain’t gonna care one bit of a ghoul and a couple synths get caught in the crossfire.”

They were, however, providing a distraction for most of the mutants. Hancock and I tried to stay hidden as we picked off the ones we could from a distance, and when a mutant’s bullet killed the vertibird’s pilot, the resulting crash gave us a chance to move in. The surviving Brotherhood soldiers weren’t survivors for long, but neither were the mutants. In the dead silence, I saw a pair of glowing yellow eyes watching from the window of a darkened shed.

“Didn’t think I’d been gone that long,” Valentine drawled, “my sense of time must be falling apart like the rest of me.”

A very nervous synth still in an Institute worker’s jumpsuit stood in the corner. He’d been surprised and scared to see a ‘Gen2’ synth coming to help him, but the trench coat was confusing enough to keep him from panicking. As soon as Valentine introduced himself, the refugee assumed the Railroad had reprogrammed the old synth. Valentine was not amused. Hancock found it hilarious.

I set the synth right, made sure he had the care package Valentine had brought for him, and wished him luck. He thanked us and left quickly. We got out of the scrap yard, and I nearly collapsed.

“Holmes!” Valentine held me steady, then scolded, “I’m not going to bother stating the obvious.”

“Yes, you were right, I’m an idiot,” I bit back, “now let go. I can stand.”

He complied. I resented being coddled and began walking back the way we came. “We’ll return the Mayor to Goodneighbor and inform the Railroad of the synth’s status. I’d like to know if Deacon was successful as well.”

“Sure,” Valentine said, perfectly neutral. “Sounds like a plan.”

“If it’s all the same to you, I’ll stick around a bit,” said Hancock. “After letting the Railroad run through Goodneighbor so long, kinda curious to see what it’s like.”

“The choice is yours,” I said.

We made it a few miles before Valentine fell back to speak with Hancock, intentionally extending the distance between us. After a while, I forced the issue by coming to a stop. “Well?”

Hancock moved on ahead. “I ain’t gettin’ between this. I don’t know if you’ve ever seen Nick angry, but it ain’t pretty.”

The comment only served to annoy me further. I turned to Valentine… and was surprised to see nothing but confusion on his face.

“I was impressed you were still on your feet. Asked Hancock how you managed it.” I said nothing. He frowned, “I know you don’t want to talk about it, but I can’t figure it out. You told me you were once an addict. Tough living next to a chem shop.”

“I am perfectly capable of ignoring Solomon hawking his wares.”

“Most of the time.”

“I’ve never bought anything from him, or any other chem dealer, and have no intention of starting.”

“Good to hear. But why risk using now?”

I started to walk, “I needed something to keep going.”

He followed, “I had it under control.”

“The Brotherhood -”

“There’s no way you could have known they’d be out here shooting up mutants. Why did you follow me? Did you think I couldn’t finish the job?”

“I knew you were perfectly capable. … but I couldn’t stand by and wait.”

“Why not?”

“I had to know you were coming back.” I don’t think I’d known the truth of that statement until I’d said it.

He was surprised, and sighed, “You took, by Hancock’s count, four mentats, two buffout pills, and a shot of Med-X, knowing full well the can of worms you were opening, because you were worried about me?”

“Was it really four?”

“The fact that you have to ask isn’t a good sign, Holmes.”

“I appreciate your concern, Valentine, but I’m fine. One night of use doesn’t mean I’m going to ruin myself.”

“Hell of a use,” Hancock said as he stood waiting for us to catch up, “and that’s me sayin’ that.”

“And yet you kept giving it to him,” Valentine scolded, the anger Hancock had mentioned surfacing.

“Hey,” Hancock challenged as we walked, “I ain’t about to tell a brother he can’t take whatever he wants, especially when he’s got a reason. After the Med-X, figured he knew what he was doing.”

“What do you mean?”

“Stimpaks, jab into the shoulder and run, but chems require a little more finesse to get the best effect. Hit the vein on the first go, that sort of thing. Our boy here’s an old hand at needles.”

“Calmex,” I said. “Before the War.”

“Calmex?” Hancock sounded impressed, “That shit’s hard to come by these days.”

“Wasn’t that an animal tranquilizer?” Valentine asked.

I rolled my eyes, “It enhanced my perception and reflexes, immensely useful for detective work, and provided a welcome relief when business was slow. Mentats filled the mundane gaps.”

“And then something made you stop,” Valentine said, the question lingering.

“… someone. I haven’t touched Calmex in ten years… two hundred twenty, I suppose. Mentats remained an occasional indulgence, along with tobacco. It was enough and will remain so.”

“Fine.” He clearly thought it was anything but, however he was willing to let the argument lie. Then he said, “Just don’t run away this time if things get bad. Talk to me, alright?”

I sighed, and nodded. I knew he was genuinely worried, and I couldn’t deny I had let emotion cloud my judgment, but he was overthinking the situation. I suppose it should have been comforting, knowing he was so worried. I was so focused on the task of returning to the Railroad without falling over, I didn’t think about it.

The Railroad agents that recognized Valentine greeted him, and every single one of them stared at Hancock a moment before looking at me, and then returning to their jobs with a shrug. I did hear a muted “fuck, it’s the Mayor” from someone but couldn’t identify the source. Hancock ignored everyone as he looked around. “Not bad for a church basement.”

Carrington was pleased and grateful to hear the synth had been saved, and then ordered with his perfect lack of bedside manner, “Get some rest, you look worse than either of your companions. No offense meant to Mr. Valentine, or who I assume is Mayor Hancock. Unless there’s some other ghoul in the Commonwealth with a bizarre love of historical reenactment.”

“He always sound like someone pissed in his cereal?” Hancock asked.

“Most of the time,” Valentine wasn’t even trying to hide his vindication, “but he’s damn good at his job, so he’s earned it.”


	17. Weird Taste in Friends

It was slightly disorienting to wake up on a mattress near the the Railroad’s back door. My body protested as I stood and looked for my companions. Hancock was talking with Deacon, the small crowd of agents around them wearing smiles of disbelief. Deacon was animatedly finishing a story involving two Coursers, a stick of gum, and a super mutant suicider. Hancock reclined in his chair, inhaled a small puff of jet, and said, “If any of that were true, I’d be damn impressed. But let me ask you, brother… you ever meet a comic book hero?”

I’m certain Deacon knew exactly what Hancock was referring to, but he played along, and the tale was begun. I decided to let them have their fun and glanced around for Valentine. I saw him talking to Dr. Carrington. I took a step toward them and was stopped by Desdemona.

“I can’t say I’m thrilled with having the Mayor of Goodneighbor here.”

She didn’t seem upset, and in fact she was possibly amused. “He’s been letting your agents operate in his town for years,” I said.

“I’m not concerned he’s going to go running to the Brotherhood with our location,” she said, “he’s just… unpredictable.”

“He’s perfectly predictable. Good guys get helped, bad guys get hurt. That is more or less a direct quote.”

She chuckled and turned the conversation to business. Apparently, there is a loosely affiliated group of raiders that has been causing trouble for the Railroad, a particularly sadistic lot calling themselves the L&L Gang who take great delight in finding and executing synths. Desdemona claimed the Railroad had lost more synths to them over the years than even the Coursers. She had a lead on one of the gang’s top figures, a man by the name of Lucky Tatum. He was hiding out in Back Street Apparel. As I’d be headed in that direction to return to Diamond City, she wanted me to deal with him. I agreed.

Valentine approached, “What’s the plan?”

“How does eliminating a few members of a synth hunting gang suit you, Mr. Valentine?”

“Synth hunting, hm? I’d be lying if I said that didn’t hold a certain appeal.”

“Deacon will join us,” I stated, but Desdemona answered as if it had been a question.

“He wants to help. How’d you guess?”

“I never guess,” I said with a wry grin.

She was unimpressed, but it doesn’t matter. I approached the two men still engaged in verbal one-upmanship. “Mayor Hancock. Deacon, Valentine, and I are going to deal with synth hunting raiders, will you be joining us before you return to Goodneighbor?”

Hancock smiled sinisterly. “Sounds like my kind of trouble.”

“He’s coming?” Deacon asked. “You uh, sure that’s safe?”

“Safe?” Hancock laughed as he stood, “where the hell’s the fun in that?”

 

As we walked, I asked Deacon what the status was of the Courser he’d gone after. He said it was taken care of, thanks to some assistance from Glory, but that I got to fight the next one.

“Courser, huh?” Hancock said from his position in front. “That must have been a hell of a - oh, shit!” he turned the corner and immediately backed up, his shotgun at the ready, “If you got any explosives, now would be a real good time to use ‘em!”

The deathclaw’s roar echoed over the shotgun blast as it came around the building. “Don’t let it get close!” Deacon called out, “Pop a Stealth Boy if you got one!” and he promptly did.

Hancock swore, colorfully, followed with, “We’re in a goddamn alley, and he says ‘don’t let it get close.’”

Deacon managed to flank the beast as Hancock, Valentine, and I continued our assault while moving as quickly backwards as we could until we cleared the alley and could gain some distance. Being attacked from all directions confused it enough for us to put it down with relative ease… as easy as killing a ten foot reptile of sheer muscle and rage ever is.

Once it was dead, Hancock sighed. “Could use some jet after that.”

Deacon limped over to us, wincing. “Another deathclaw down, another of my nine lives burned. Yay.”

“Are you alright?” I asked.

“Yeah, I’m fine, just a bruised rib. Ribs. Ribcage. Ow. Got hit by the damn tail.”

“Walking away from a fight with a Deathclaw is no small feat,” Valentine mused. “Nicely done, everyone.”

Hancock nudged the deathclaw’s head with the toe of his boot. “So, what do you think it would take to train these things to just eat super mutants?”

“Well, first we’d have to find a baby and name it Fluffy,” Deacon quipped.

Hancock laughed, “Anyone up for deathclaw steaks? Nothing like eating a meal made from something that tried to eat you.”

“That’s like, every meal,” Deacon said as we moved forward. “I mean, except the vegetarian ones. Unless there are mutant man-eating plants out there. Attack of the killer tatos.”

“Brahmin don’t try to eat you.”

“Not yet.” Deacon spared a last glance at the deathclaw. He shuddered. “Man, I do not like those things.”

“Yeah, give me the chills, too,” Hancock admitted.

Valentine and I followed as Hancock and Deacon continued hypothesizing on the existence of various other life forms that could kill them, yet would taste good.

“Holmes,” said Valentine, “you got a weird taste in friends.”

“Said the man at the top of the list,” I smirked.

“Doesn’t make it any less true,” he said.

After the deathclaw, Lucky Tatum and his crew of bigoted sadists didn’t stand a chance. It was a massacre. All four of us present hadn’t been necessary, but I knew why Deacon had wanted to be there. He didn’t say anything, and the sunglasses continue to make reading his thoughts difficult, but when it was all over he said, “No comparison to Deathclaws.”

“Yet just as necessary to deal with,” I said. “The circumstances are slightly different, besides.”

He looked at me, inscrutable for a moment, before smiling. “No giant tails to dodge, for one thing. I gotta see the doc when I get back to HQ. Ugh, won’t that be fun.”

“Found some ammo in here!” Hancock shouted from a far room.

Valentine spoke quietly as Deacon joined the Mayor, “If I ask what that was about, am I going to get a straight answer?”

“Deacon trusted me with details about his life, which to be perfectly honest I don’t know are true or not. My instinct leans towards truth.”

When it became clear that was all I was going to say on the matter, he said, “You could have just said ‘no, Nick, man’s got a right to his secrets.’”

I grinned. I don’t know for sure if Deacon was thinking of the creature or the gang from his life story when he said Deathclaws, but I thought the acknowledgement should be there, should he choose to take it. Perhaps the gang never existed, perhaps Deacon was never married, perhaps, perhaps… and yet. The possibility of its truth is enough to respect his wishes that it never be known. He went through the trouble of erasing the recording of it. That might count for something toward its validity. Maybe.

Deacon said he would let Desdemona know the good news as we left the area. We said our goodbyes, and the three of us turned toward Diamond City. Hancock seemed to be enjoying our company, and avoiding his mayoral duties. As we passed the guards patrolling outside the Diamond City entrance, he grew silent and stern, exuding deadly confidence as each guard watched him pass.

“Would you like to come in?” I asked.

He frowned. “You know ghouls ain’t welcome.”

“That wasn’t what I asked.”

He chuckled, and said, “Nah. I appreciate the gesture, but we’d be makin’ Nick here an accomplice or some such bullshit, and he gets enough crap as it is. I’ll sneak in on my own sometime. I’m countin’ on you to keep my removal dignified when I do.”

He left, and we went inside the city. “How’re you feeling?” Valentine asked.

“Fine. Why do you ask?”

“You were in rough shape before. Just checking on you.”

“I’m fine, Valentine, truly. We’re home, what is there to be worried about?”

He laughed softly, “Alright. Can’t blame an old synth for being worried. I’d hate to lose a partner to something so mundane as poor health.”

We checked in at the Agency before he told me to go home and spend some time with my son. I didn’t argue. I was glad to see Shaun, and together we worked on a few experiments in the workshop. Now it’s late, he lies asleep upstairs, and I sit at my desk in the living room. Codsworth is continuing his evening routine. Everything is as it should be. I stored the pack of mentats I found on a raider in the desk drawer. It’s tempting to take one, but this time I’ll concede to Valentine’s concerns, and get some rest.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to let everyone know I'm going to be out of the country the next couple of weeks, and I'm not 100% sure if I'll be able to update during that time. Thank you so much for the kudos, comments, and subscriptions. I also started a ko-fi a while back if you're into that sort of thing (ko-fi.com/kaelma). The next few chapters are going to get a bit rough for Holmes, and I'd love to hear what people think.
> 
> As always, thanks for reading. :)


	18. Black Moods

The cases at the Agency have been achingly elementary. Valentine is starting to worry because I’ve been a bit blunt recently. They don’t come to us for kindness, they come to us for help. The least they can do is provide useful information. I was glad to see Deacon come through the door; the Railroad had a lead on another Courser, this one hiding out in the ruins near Diamond City. As he said, “Your turn, Detective.”

I went home to gather my armor and weapons, and took a mentat. I needed to be sharp. Med-X would have been useful, but that is neither here nor there.

We made our way to the location. Deacon came along, even though it was “my turn,” which was decent of him I suppose. A pair of second generation synths were just inside the building, standing guard. We engaged, and three more came from within the building. One rushed us, prompting Valentine to switch to the shock baton he seems to favor in close combat. “Goodness,” he said, “do I really look as bad as these models?”

I laughed, the shot from the rifle Shaun made disintegrating the synth in front of me. “No, Valentine, you have infinitely more class.” To be honest, it’s reached the point where he and the Gen2s seem entirely different to my mind.

“Glory’s going to lecture me when I get home,” Deacon muttered as the last synth fell. “Killing these old synths always… well, if we gotta do it.”

“Be nice if there were some way to reason with ‘em,” Valentine nodded.

“Unfortunately, that is not the case. Well, gentlemen,” I said, “the Courser seems content to wait for us to come to him.”

We moved inside, and were greeted with a barrage of blue laser fire. The Courser had effectively barricaded himself behind furniture and debris, so I threw a grenade. It at least forced him out, though he engaged his stealth. It didn’t matter. Valentine rushed him, and Deacon and I fired on the invisible figure with sparks flying from each strike of Valentine’s weapon. Visibility returned, and the Courser fell to the floor.

“I’m getting too old for this,” Valentine mumbled.

“Me too,” Deacon stretched, “but hey, another one down. How many of these things did the Institute have, anyway?”

“Many,” I said. “Let me know if we can be of any more assistance.”

“Sure thing. Til next time, Detective. Valentine.”

We returned to Diamond City, tired, but relieved it had gone so well. I took a mentat as I followed Valentine into the office. It helped keep the rest of the day bearable, the mild stimulation welcome as the adrenaline from the fight faded completely. I must find some way to occupy myself.


	19. Chemistry

In my attempt to use chemistry as a distraction, I discovered that blending buffout and mentats in the right ratio results in similar benefits as buffout, but with a much lighter comedown. It also heightens one’s mental processes, though not as much as a simple mentat. The combination, however, is appealing and effective. These… bufftats? Mentouts? These pills have been instrumental in my helping the Railroad eliminate the remains of the L&L Gang.

I’ve been taking Dogmeat with me, it’s been good for him to get out of the city. He’s apparently popular with the security guards, I hadn’t realized how many interacted with him on a daily basis until I started regularly leaving and arriving with him in tow. Of course, having Dogmeat also saves Valentine the trouble of following. Someone has to run the Agency, and Deacon is busy with other missions for the Railroad. Piper has been working on a piece regarding the anti-ghoul ban, and I think it would be best if Valentine didn’t see me in Hancock’s company given what happened last time.

I’m more than capable, besides. A few raiders are hardly a challenge, and I can eliminate them efficiently. It gets me away from the city, from Valentine. His constant concern and frequent disapproval are stifling. I don’t understand what he’s so worried about. I’m keeping busy, it’s not the first time, and it’s a good cause, what does it matter if I aid my endurance and perception as long as the work gets done?


	20. Get Out

How dare he.

How could he possibly understand, who is he to judge how I force myself through the day? I don’t need his lectures or want his help. The very idea of him barging in through my front door.

“We need to talk,” he said, in that tone of voice that says arguing is futile.

I was offended to hear Codsworth agree. “Thank goodness. Come along, pup,” and he and Dogmeat went out the back door.

As soon as they were gone, Valentine said, “We need to get you to a doc.”

I looked up at him from my seat behind my desk and struggled to swallow my annoyance. My head hurt just from thinking about how ridiculous this was. “What for.”

He remained stern, “You know exactly what for. I’ve been watching you deteriorate for long enough. I know you’re hardly the social type, but at least you’ve always treated people with class and respect. Now you can’t even talk to a person unless there’s a mentat in your mouth.”

I rolled my eyes, “You’re overreacting.”

“Like hell I am. Those damn pills you’ve been making, eating them every time you run off -”

That alarmed me. “Who told you about those?”

“Didn’t have to be told -”

Indignation overcame my exhaustion, “You searched my things?!”

“My partner looks like he crawled out of a Goodneighbor gutter, you’re damn right I did!” He pointed to my fingers tapping on my desk, “You’re dying to get at the pack of mentats in the drawer, but pride won’t let you in front of me. At least there’s still that.”

My fingers stopped. “Get out.”

“No. You’re too damn smart for this, and you’re too important to me to just walk away. Why are you ruining yourself? You clearly don’t give a damn about your health, but think of Shaun -”

“Leave him out of this.”

“He’s your son! What kind of father do you think you can be like this? The kid hardly recognizes you anymore!”

An angry panic threatened, “What have you told him?”

He seethed, irritated. “I haven’t told him anything, but he’s bright, he’ll figure it out. Or someone else will tell him his old man’s a junkie and won’t that be a fun thing to explain.”

“Get out,” I ordered as I stood, “Get the hell out of here, and stay away from my family!”

Silence.

And just like that, he was cold. “Alright.”

He left.

He left, and I let him go.

 

The tips of my fingers are stained red

 

What have I done?


	21. Stay

Shaun found me sitting on the sofa with a cigarette when he came home from school. I put it out; it was a poor substitute for what I was craving. He came up to me, carefully, and I was both angry and devastated to see so much uncertainty in him.

“Are you ok, Dad?”

I was exhausted, but forced myself to pay attention. “Why do you ask?”

He hesitated. “I know you’re not like other dads, but that’s ok, because you’re still my dad. But you’ve been different. It seems like something’s wrong. Did I do anything -”

“No.” A pain that had nothing to do with withdrawal burned through me, Valentine’s words echoing in my mind. “No, Shaun, you have nothing to do with this. I… I suppose something has been wrong, but I’m going to make it right. I’ll be fine, you’ll see.”

I was wrong. Two days later my lips were stained red and I didn’t remember when I’d taken the mentat. Or mentats. I tried again, and again failed. I felt like I was spiraling into a black pit, my sense of time unreliable. I heard the door open as I sat on the edge of my bed, Codsworth telling whoever it was that I was upstairs. I was surprised, and ashamed, to see him.

“Valentine.”

He was carefully neutral. “Shaun told me you were sick.”

I scoffed, “He’s right.”

“I gathered from his vague description that you tried to quit.”

“Ha. I couldn’t make it two days. I’m not even certain how long ago that was. Shaun brought you here?”

He nodded. “He’s worried.”

“I know. I didn’t want… damn, I’ve made such a mess of things. I should have gone with you when you came, I shouldn’t have pushed you away.”

“Well,” he sighed, finally softening, “insulting you didn’t help my argument much.”

“You were right.” I shivered, “Valentine, I… I’m ashamed to ask but I must, I need you to find a medicine called addictol -”

He held out a small red inhaler. “Way ahead of you.” He smiled a little, “I was hoping you’d ask.”

My hand trembled as I took it from him. “If I hadn’t?”

“I would have suggested it. From there, I guess that depends on what your answer would have been.” He watched me stare at the addictol for a few moments. “I understand it’s about as unpleasant as the old-fashioned way, but a hell of a lot faster.”

“It’s worse,” I sighed, “but it works.” I shakily breathed in the bitter medicine. It stung.

“How long will it last?”

“A few hours. Headache, nausea, weakness and exhaustion. Some pain.”

“I can’t tell if you’re toning it down for my benefit or not.” I smiled a little and laid down. He hesitated, “You gonna be ok by yourself?”

“I’ll be alright.”

I heard him talking to Shaun after he descended, speaking as if nothing were wrong in the world. “Your dad’s gonna be fine, Shaun. He’ll feel a little rough for a few hours, but then he’ll be right as rain.”

“But what was wrong with him?”

“Well... You know what chems are?”

“What Solomon sells. They make people feel differently, and Nat said Piper told her if you use too many you get sick and can’t stop.”

“That’s about right. Your dad took some and couldn’t stop. But the medicine I brought him should fix that.”

“But why would he use them? He knows better.”

“Chems are tricky things. Use the right ones, and folks feel like they can do things they normally can’t.” Valentine sighed, “Look, kid, your dad’s a good man. Tries to help as many people as he can. Unfortunately, humans have to take a break every now and then. Holmes doesn’t want to have to stop. Always doing something.”

“He thought if he used the chems he could help more people because he wouldn’t have to stop?”

“That’s part of it. Fighting super mutants, saving synths, swearing at the Brotherhood.”

“Nick, you and Dad don’t swear.”

“Not that you’ve ever heard,” he joked.

The conversation moved on, stories of super mutants and daring rescues. At some point I must have fallen asleep. I awoke feeling marginally better, but it was clearly far from over. I heard Codsworth say something about bedtime. I slowly made my way down the stairs.

“Dad! Are you ok?” Shaun asked. He was at the table with Valentine, an issue of Awesome Tales between them.

“Not yet,” I managed a weak smile, “but I will be.”

“You should be in bed,” Valentine said, without any of the frustration or disapproval of the past weeks.

“Shaun has school tomorrow.  He should get some sleep, and a sick father in the bed beside his won’t help.”

“Do you promise you’ll be ok?” Shaun asked.

“I promise I’ll be perfectly fine in the morning.”

“You’re going to stay, right Nick?”

“Course I will, kid. Hurry on to bed, do what Codsworth tells you.”

Shaun hurried off, Codsworth right behind him. “It wasn’t completely true, what you told him,” I said softly.

Valentine shrugged, “Alright, you got me. There were only four mutants when I rescued the farmer’s daughter, not half a dozen.”

I smiled, “That’s not what I was referring to. My chem use is only partially motivated by work.”

“Didn’t think I was the person to do any in depth explanations.”

“I suppose. Thank you, for your help… and for staying.”

“Couldn’t leave you in your hour of need - easy now,” he steadied me as a wave of pain racked through me. This time I welcomed the support, permitting myself to rely on his arms as he guided me to the sofa. “You’re burning up.”

“Normal,” I muttered, “the worst of the addictol.”

“Thought you said it would only last a few hours.”

“I was toning it down for your sake.”

He smirked, “Guess you’ve done this before.”

“Multiple times.”

“Still smoke cigarettes.”

I laughed, sudden and likely far more manic than I typically sound. “You smoke, and you don’t even feel any effects from it.”

“It’s easier to let the old Nick have his addiction,” he smiled. “Tried substituting all sorts of stuff, thought it might be just an oral fixation, but nothing worked.”

“Ha. Well,” I grimaced, breathed a moment, and said, “I enjoy sitting and smoking with you. That’s one habit I don’t intend on stopping.”

“I think I’m alright with that.” He kneeled down next to me as I lied down on the sofa with a groan. “Whatever you need, you let me know.”

I grasped his hand. “Just stay. The worst is nearly through, just…”

Metallic fingers carefully folded over mine, and my fragile state made his eyes seem to shine even more than usual, “I’m not going anywhere. The night won’t last forever.”   
  


The next I can recall is the middle of the night. The house was dark but for the soft glow of Codsworth on standby, and a pair of glowing yellow eyes. “Valentine?”

He squeezed my hand, gently, constantly mindful of the metal. “Still here.”

“I’m sorry I sent you away. What I said…”

“Hush. You weren’t yourself. I shouldn’t have left you.”

I shook my head, my grip on his fingers tight, “You had every right. I told you to stay away from my family, but you are, Nick, you -”

“Easy,” he soothed, a hand on my shoulder. “It’s all water under the bridge. Go back to sleep, Sherlock.”

I did. The next time I woke, the sun was rising. Codsworth was moving about the kitchen, taking stock of our supplies. Valentine’s hand still held mine.

“Just woke up, and already you look fifty times better than yesterday,” he said.

Codsworth soared over, “Oh, sir, I completely agree with Mr. Valentine. You don’t know how glad I am to see you coherent - ah -”

“It’s alright, Codsworth, I know what you mean.” I sat up, “Is there anything to drink?”

“Of course! Fresh water would be just the thing, I think.”

I shared an amused glance with Valentine as water was provided. It was good to see Codsworth so relieved. I thanked him, and asked about something to eat, which had him ecstatic.

Valentine and I moved to the table as Codsworth prepared a light breakfast. “I know you must be tired of hearing me say this, but how are you feeling?” Valentine asked.

“Better. Tired, but… refreshed. It doesn’t fix anything,” I cautioned, “simply clears the body of its dependencies.”

Valentine nodded, “Yeah, I realize that. Still, it’s a good place to start.”

Much of the early morning was spent in silence. I didn’t let go of his hand until it was required to eat. I didn’t know what to say. ‘I’m sorry’ and ‘thank you’ were hardly adequate.

Shaun joined us and happily declared I looked a lot better. He and Valentine talked, Shaun had detected some discrepancies in the stories he’d been told last night, and I was content to listen and watch until it was time for Shaun to go to school.

Valentine stayed the day. We threw out every pill in the house and talked about anything and everything we could think of. We spent a great deal of time sitting in comfortable silence as well. Codsworth is currently using him as a guinea pig for his latest iteration of ‘tea.’ 

“Last time I let someone test a drink on me, it was Vadim and a batch of moonshine. It didn’t end well. So, compared to that, this is great.” 

Codsworth is not encouraged, and I’ve been scolded for laughing.


	22. Strengthening Truces

After a day of recovery, I returned to my duty toward the Minutemen with renewed focus. Finch Farm reported super mutant activity, and the remains of the Forged were slowly rebuilding within the Ironworks. Gunners had harassed Oberland Station twice in a week, prompting heavier defenses and additional quarters for regular Minutemen patrols to stay the night. Hard labor and tactical planning were a welcome change of pace. I decided to check in on Sanctuary while I was out west. The sight of a Brotherhood vertibird overhead spurred an idea for improving Brotherhood and Minutemen relations.

I’d prefer if Maxson and his damned airship got out of the Commonwealth, but as he seems disinclined to do so, and as I am disinclined to start a war with him, we maintain this ruse of being on good terms. If his patrols are going to start flying further west, however, then it is imperative that I give the Brotherhood soldiers a reason to appreciate the Minutemen, as opposed to this petty jealousy the destruction of the Institute engendered. I’ll also need to tell Maxson to avoid Sanctuary. Danse doesn’t want me to start a war for his sake, but that’s only a possibility if they never find out he’s there.

Valentine and Dogmeat accompanied me as I traveled and continued with me up to Sanctuary. Valentine’s very presence has been helpful. Gentle reminders to eat that I would have scoffed at and blatantly ignored so recently are - well, they’re still irritating, but more due to the fact that they are necessary than anything else. He recognizes the importance of a task for me to focus on, a chance to give my mind something to do, but remains there to pull me back from whatever precipice I might be throwing myself toward. Dogmeat pointedly ignored a box of chems the last time we scavenged an abandoned building for supplies, when a month ago he would have alerted me to it. That dog is far too intelligent.

Sanctuary was as welcome a sight as always. The recruit posted on guard duty at the bridge snapped to attention as she recognized us. “General! Welcome back, sir. Mr. Valentine.”

“At ease,” I was amused. “I see the Lt. Colonel is impressing the importance of proper military etiquette on his recruits.”

“Yes, sir,” she said, perfectly serious, then paused for a smile. “Sort of drives the Colonel crazy.”

I chuckled, “I can imagine.” A volley of laser musket fire sounded in the distance. “Target practice?”

“Yes, sir.”

“What’d you do to score guard duty?” Valentine asked.

“There’s a regular rotation. Col. Garvey thinks it’s important for us to get some experience patrolling and standing guard, not just running drills. Lt. Col. Danse agreed.”

“At least they agree on something,” Valentine said.

Her smile widened, “A few things.”

There was a hidden humor in her smile. The recruits apparently find the interactions between Preston and Danse entertaining. “Thank you, ah…”

“Nash, sir.”

“Thank you, Nash. Carry on.”

Dogmeat ran off as we got further into the settlement, barking happily. We found Preston inside a recently repaired office space in one of the centrally located houses. He was standing behind a desk with a map spread across it. He was so intent on the study of it, he didn’t look up when we entered. “Yes?” he said.

“Is that any way to greet your superior officer, Colonel?”

His head shot up, “General!”

“Hello, Preston,” I said with a smile and forestalled his apology, “I came unannounced, you weren’t expecting me. Redistributing supply lines to account for all our associated settlements is enough of a headache to warrant a curt greeting. God knows I’m worse when I’m in the middle of a case.”

Valentine made a sound that was either a scoff or a choked laugh.

Preston smiled, a touch sheepish, “It’s a bit irritating… wait, how did you know -”

“You have lines drawn across a map of the Commonwealth, with multiple originating from a few locations. The lines pass near general locations of settlements. If you weren’t looking at supply lines, I would be concerned.”

“Yeah. I’m trying to decide which line to put the scientists on.”

“The scientists?”

“The Institute refugees you and Curie got set up to the south? They contacted the checkpoint near them a couple days ago, said they wanted to invite more people to the settlement. It’s still a house in a swamp, but who knows?”

“Indeed. It’s fortunate you’re looking at the supply lines, there’s an additional location I want to run a special delivery to every month or so.”

“What sort of delivery?”

“I would like bottles of anti-freeze, gas canisters, and any nuclear material scavenged around the Commonwealth to be set aside if they aren’t necessary to settlement needs, along with a few containers of water. Dirty is fine, no need to send the purified supply, they aren’t drinking it. It just has to be freshwater as opposed to salt.”

Preston was puzzled. “Anti-freeze, gasoline, nuclear material, and dirty water?”

“Precisely.”

“All the necessary ingredients for a batch of reactor coolant,” Valentine drawled.

Preston’s brow furrowed. For a brief moment, he reminded me of Danse. “General. Where do you want the ingredients for reactor coolant to be sent?”

“The Prydwen.”

He wasn’t sure if he should be flabbergasted or furious. So, he put his face in his palm, and muttered, “Why?”

“Have there been any Brotherhood vertibirds sighted recently?”

Preston looked at me, suddenly concerned. “One. We heard it coming, so Danse had time to get a helmet on before they passed overhead. Just a single pass, reminding us they’re around.”

“Why haven’t I ever seen that man in a helmet?” Valentine asked.

“He wants recruits and civilians to be able to see his face, instead of talking to a headlamp,” Preston said. “I don’t think he likes the status display most power armor helmets are equipped with, either, though he’s never said so, exactly.”

“The important fact is that, for now, the Brotherhood know the person in charge of our training wears a suit of power armor,” I said. “In addition, Maxson’s patrols are venturing further west, and are likely taking a greater interest in Minutemen affairs.”

“If they become a problem, Ronnie’s been itching to shoot down their flagship. Easy for the Castle’s artillery -”

“Colonel Garvey.” I was stern, “You will remind Ms. Shaw that we are not at war with the Brotherhood, and I have no intention of starting. If we shoot down the Prydwen, it will spur a full fledged attack on the Castle, followed by continued attacks on all our settlements by the Brotherhood troops on the ground. They still have a base in Cambridge, and a giant robot in the Boston Airport designed for the complete annihilation of its foes. In addition, you will remind her that there are children on board that vessel. The Minutemen do not commit murder. Collateral damage may have been perfectly acceptable to the Institute, but it isn’t to me.”

Preston frowned, “Understood. I don’t want a war either, General, but some of the old guard are starting to wonder why we let the Brotherhood parade around like they own the place. And if you’re going to start using our provisioners to send them supplies, people will have a lot of questions.”

“Have there been reports of conflicts between Brotherhood and Minutemen patrols?”

“Not that I know of.”

“And no Brotherhood parties have harassed our settlers?”

A small smirk finally broke across Preston’s face as he realized my point. “No, sir.”

“Then explain to me how the Brotherhood flying their own regular patrols and keeping the feral and super mutant populations down constitutes ‘parading around.’”

“It’s the ‘like they own the place’ part that sticks with people,” Valentine said.

“I don’t deny the superior attitude is infuriating,” I conceded, “but my decision to co-exist with the Brotherhood will not change, and I believe I have adequately outlined the logic behind it.”

Preston sighed, “Yeah. I guess you have.” The sound of power armor approaching signaled Danse’s arrival. Preston continued, “You still haven’t said why we’re sending the Brotherhood reactor coolant.”

“The Prydwen’s supply is low. If they run out, they’ll have to land the ship, which, while technically possible, would be a dangerous logistical nightmare. The Brotherhood are in the Commonwealth and seem content to stay. Therefore, the Minutemen are going to extend an olive branch to our neighbor and provide the supplies they need.”

“You’re hoping to make the Minutemen indispensable,” Danse said.

“You would know better than I whether or not such an attempt is futile.”

“Proctor Ingram will be grateful for the coolant, and by extension Captain Kells, but if you want to win the hearts of the Brotherhood, you’d do it best through Proctor Teagan. I’m certain that by now he’s running low on provisions, forced to rely on whatever he can purchase. At least, this was the case before I was ‘executed.’”

“Best way to an army’s heart is through its stomach,” Valentine grinned.

“Would we have food to spare?” I asked Preston.

“Maybe. Assuming production stays the way it is.”

“Our settlements’ needs come first,” I said, “but if any amount could be routinely spared…”

Preston sighed, again. “I’ll see. I’ll set up a line for the coolant.”

“Thank you, Preston. Danse, what brought you away from the training grounds?”

He shifted, awkward. “The recent vertibird patrol did not go unnoticed. The new recruits know I was a Paladin. They’ve been asking what they should do if the Brotherhood ever attacked.”

I smiled, knowingly. “If they attacked the settlement, or if they attacked you?”

He was almost embarrassed, but answered with his typical straightforward manner, “Both. I told them if they attacked, our duty was to defend the settlement. As much as I would hate to fire on those who were once my brothers and sisters, I will not hesitate to defend the people here. However, if I am the sole target of the attack, I ordered them not to get involved. They were not pleased.”

“Of course not!” Preston shouted, bewildered and possibly angry. “We aren’t just going to stand still while you let yourself get killed.”

Danse was actually surprised, “I wouldn’t let myself be killed.”

“You think you’d have a chance against a vertibird on your own?”

“Depending on who the pilot was -”

“Danse. If they find out you’re here, if they come for you, then I don’t care what the General thinks, the Brotherhood will have a war with the Minutemen on their hands.” Preston remembered I was standing there. “With all due respect, sir.”

“I agree,” I said. “Like it or not, Danse, you have friends in the world willing to fight for your sake.”

“And two of them outrank you,” Valentine said with a small smile.

It’s always strange to see Danse uneasy. I believe he’d expected such a reaction from me, but Preston’s outburst had been a complete surprise. Combined with Valentine’s quip implying he might have more than two friends in the world, and the clearly shocking desire of the recruits to defend their Lt. Colonel… the man was at a momentary loss.

He took a breath, and the moment was over. “The more pressing question is this,” he said, nearly at attention as he focused on me. “How shall a Minuteman respond if they see a Brotherhood soldier attack a ghoul or synth?”

“Intervene.”

“Even if doing so results in bloodshed? Defending a ghoul might be justifiable, but defending a synth will be interpreted as an act of aggression against the Brotherhood of Steel.”

“How does the Brotherhood know who’s a synth and who’s not,” Valentine asked, “present company excluded.”

“The Institute jumpsuits are something of a giveaway.” Valentine rolled his eyes, and Danse continued, “The same way anyone in the Commonwealth knows.”

“A neighbor starts acting funny, and people get scared,” Valentine said.

Danse nodded, “The Brotherhood does not attack without good cause, but rumors are not simply dismissed.”

“If the Minutemen observe the Brotherhood in combat with anyone,” I said, “then they are to observe the situation, ascertain the reason for the fight, and then assist the innocent party. If this results in a fight against the Brotherhood, I need to know about it immediately. That being said, I will not tolerate any action intended to instigate a fight.”

“Understood.”

“Did you have any more questions?”

He glanced quickly at Preston, but said, “No, sir. With your leave, I’ll return to training.”

“By all means. Thank you, Danse.”

Preston watched him go, puzzled, “I’m never going to understand him.”

“I’m sure the feeling is mutual,” I smiled. “If you don’t object, we’ll stay the night and return to Diamond City tomorrow.”

“No objections, General. It’s always good to have you back.”

“You really think this is going to work?” Valentine asked as we walked through town. “This ‘play nice with the Brotherhood’ plan of yours?”

“I don’t know,” I said, “but it’s worth a try.”

Sanctuary continues to do well. We found Sturges and Curie in her lab; Curie had been telling Sturges about her latest experiments, an experience which the engineer summed up as, “I don’t understand most of what you’re talking about, but I’m glad you’re happy.” His sincerity made her blush. Valentine tugged my arm, and made an excuse to leave.

Mama Murphy’s still alive and still predicting the future. She was chatting with Marcy, working in the garden, when we walked by. Marcy continues to be a hard woman, but she and Jun were seen taking a walk together, so at least some healing is happening. When Mama Murphy saw us, she said, “Your family’s in for some changes, kid. Someone’s waiting… I don’t know who or where, but he’s waiting, only he doesn’t know it yet.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” I said.

She smiled, knowing full well I don’t believe her so-called gift. “You’ll want to pack a spare set of clothes when you see him. Gonna be a lot of water around.”

And with that, she resumed her conversation with Marcy. “That would be helpful if she’d said when I was going to see him,” I said as we walked away.

Valentine chuckled, “You’d ignore it anyway.”

He had a point, yet even now I struggle to dispel a curious unease.


	23. Olive Branch

Preston efficiently, though reluctantly, organized a first delivery of coolant to the Prydwen. I decided to meet the provisioner who would be making the final leg of the journey at the airport to make introductions. The Knight on guard duty was puzzled to see a trader in the company of a Paladin early in the morning, and even more so when I asked if Proctor Ingram would kindly come down from the Prydwen to speak. She did, with some trepidation, but curious.

“What are you up to?” was her greeting.

“Proctor Ingram, allow me to introduce Mr. Kane, provisioner for the Minutemen. I thought it best someone with authority know the man by sight, as he’ll be making deliveries here at least once a month.”

“Likely twice, sir,” Kane said, “if the supplies stay as strong as they are. If you’ll need them, ma’am,” he said to Ingram.

Ingram looked at me, unamused. “What are you talking about?”

I exited the armor, and pulled a small crate of containers from Mr. Kane’s pack brahmin. “Reactor coolant, Proctor. Compliments of the Minutemen.”

She took the crate with wide eyed surprise. I’m not sure if she was more surprised by the delivery, or by the sight of a man in a General’s uniform from the American Revolution handing it to her. “Well. This’ll help. But what’s this about regular deliveries?”

“More coolant, as components are found, as well as food, if Proctor Teagan thinks it’s needed.”

“I’m sure he’d appreciate it.” She looked me over, “What’s the catch?”

“Nothing. I’d like to avoid conflict between Minutemen and Brotherhood. If you insist on staying in the Commonwealth, conflict would inevitably occur in the search for resources.”

“So you’re just making sure we have enough to get by,” Ingram said.

“But not quite enough to thrive,” I finished with a smile.

“Hmph. And the day we leave is the day you officially resign.”

“If Maxson hasn’t kicked me out by then.”

She frowned, “I know it must have been hard, what he ordered you to do. I don’t blame you for not wanting to be around after that. But you don’t really want to be a part of the Brotherhood, do you?”

I never particularly wanted to be in the first place, but there was no benefit in telling her that. “I have no desire to make enemies of the Brotherhood. Give my regards to Proctor Teagan, and Senior Scribe Neriah. I look forward to hearing what her research on the wildlife surrounding the C.I.T crater yields.”

Ingram smirked, “You and her both. Thanks for the coolant. I’ll let Teagan know some fresh food will be coming our way in a few weeks.”

It was late afternoon the following day when I returned home. The house was quiet.

“Codsworth, where’s Shaun?”

“He came home from school and asked if you had returned. When I said you hadn’t, he said he was going to go see Mr. Valentine.” He hesitated, worried, “He seemed upset.”

I was surprised, “Upset? Something must have happened at school. I’ll go talk to him.”

I found him sitting in the client’s chair in the Agency, Valentine sitting across from him at the front desk, and Ellie leaning against the file cabinet watching the two of them with a small smile. Shaun turned around, subdued, “Hi, Dad.”

“Hello, Shaun. Is everything alright?”

“I guess so.”

“One of the kids at school was saying some pretty awful things about synths,” Ellie said, “and Shaun told him he was wrong.” She was clearly pleased, as was Valentine. For that matter, so was I.

“Didn’t end too well,” Valentine said.

“What did your teachers have to say?” I asked.

Shaun shrugged, “They said I would know because I lived in the Institute, and synths could be different just like people, but that just made everyone want to know about the Institute. No one wanted to believe it was nice.”

“I see. Well, I’m proud of you for trying to teach people the truth. It can be remarkably frustrating when no one believes what you say, despite the evidence right in front of them.”

“Nick told me about what it was like when he first arrived. Everyone has been scared of the Institute for a long time.”

I nodded, “Did anyone say or do anything to you?”

He shook his head, then smiled, “Nat said she’d punch anyone who picked on me. Mr. Zwicky said bullies won’t be tolerated, but anyone caught punching anyone else would be given detention, too.”

“Nat’s a good friend to have in your corner,” Valentine chuckled, “but it sounded like you did just fine standing up for yourself without violence.”

“I don’t want to hurt anyone. But they still think I’m weird. I don’t really fit in.”

“I never fit in at school, either,” I said. “It was horribly dull.”

“Really?” Shaun asked, brightening a little. He may have been bewildered by the idea of his father ever having to be in school.

“Yes, but I don’t recommend you follow my example.”

“Regular troublemaker, weren’t you?” Valentine said. “Why am I not surprised?”

“I simply didn’t understand why many of the regulations were in place, and so I tended to ignore them. My talent for outwitting the teachers didn’t help either, I suppose. They didn’t know what to do with me.”

“I like my teachers,” Shaun said, then amended, “well, I like Miss Edna better than Mr. Zwicky, but he’s ok.”

I smiled, “Good. Why don’t you head home and we can talk more after supper, if it would help?”

“Now I want to hear more about how you got in trouble when you were in school.”

Ellie laughed. Valentine grinned, “Wouldn’t mind hearing that myself.”

I sighed, “Oh, very well. Home first.”

“Ok.” He walked around the desk, “Bye, Nick. Thanks for listening.”

“Anytime, kid,” Valentine’s words cut off suddenly as Shaun hugged him. He tentatively returned the gesture, and Shaun went to the door. “Bye, Ellie!” he waved.

“Bye, Shaun,” Ellie waved back. “Drop by anytime.”

“I’ll be along shortly,” I told him, and he hurried home. “Thank you,” I began, but Ellie stopped me.

“Shaun’s sweet. You should have seen Nick’s face when he came in.”

“Oh hush,” Valentine muttered. “Kid’s never been here before, didn’t think he even knew where the office was. I thought something terrible had happened. Still don’t understand why he came running to me, instead of waiting for his dad to come home.”

“He needed to talk, and knew you would listen,” I said. “He’s seen you do the same for me many times.”

“You did great, Nick,” Ellie smiled.

Valentine shifted uncomfortably. “Well. Thanks. Everything go well with the Brotherhood?”

I smiled at the subject change. “Yes. Ingram is disappointed in my lack of involvement with the Brotherhood, but she isn’t going to refuse a regular source of supplies.”

I invited him to come by the house that evening, and joined Shaun at home. He held me to my promise of stories from my youth. Valentine joined us midway through, and helped to explain so many of the differences of the world from two-hundred ten years ago.


	24. Immortals

The past few days have been witness to a bizarre series of events. A man by the name of Edward Deegan sought the services of someone who could track down a missing package. He suspected a courier had been ambushed by raiders in transit from Parsons Asylum to the home of his employers, the Cabot family. I vaguely recognized the name as a somewhat reclusive yet wealthy remnant of Colonial aristocracy. It was amazing any of the family had survived the War, and I expected them to be in the same state as their servant Deegan; ghouls. I was utterly wrong.

Cabot House is a grand old manor with an interior in pristine condition. To quote Valentine, “more like a museum than a home.” Jack Cabot, eldest son of the family, appears to be a healthy intellectual in his mid to late thirties. He is a scientist, of a sort, though his specialty is somewhat… esoteric. The man believes alien lifeforms are responsible for human civilization. Valentine suggested they should come back and ‘give it another shot,’ but while I admit the existence of alien life, I sincerely doubt that they had anything to do with the formation of human life or society.

This is completely beside the point. We tracked the package to an abandoned creamery and discovered it to contain a vial of serum, the nature of which I could not begin to fathom. We returned to Cabot House just in time to witness an argument between Jack and his mother. Jack’s sister, Emogene, was missing. Mrs. Cabot was quite upset, while Jack considered it more of an inconvenience; apparently, Emogene goes missing often, typically with a new boyfriend in tow. Still, Deegan’s job was to bring her home, but he also wanted to go investigate the state of the Asylum. Something valuable was being kept there, and he didn’t like the idea of raiders prowling around. Thus, Valentine and I were called upon to bring the wayward daughter home.

We tracked her to the Third Rail in Goodneighbor, and from there to a small cult gathered outside an amphitheater. They call themselves “Pillars of the Community.” It’s a scam designed to take a mark’s belongings in exchange for a taste of hope. A bit of bribery got us what we wanted, and the leader of the cult was glad to be rid of the unexpectedly no-nonsense Emogene. She looked at least thirty years Jack’s senior, rather than the younger sister we were told to look for. Emogene spoke of a serum that halts aging - the serum that was in the package we retrieved. Could it be possible, could the Cabots have found a way to achieve immortality without sacrificing their humanity?

Perhaps that depends on how one defines ‘humanity.’

There was trouble at Cabot House when we returned. Deegan’s voice could be heard over a radio; raiders had broken through the Asylum’s defenses. Jack explained that the Asylum is where the Cabots locked up their father, Lorenzo. He asked for my help in stopping the raiders, and together we made our way to the Asylum. Jack explained his father found an ancient artifact a long time ago which fused itself to his nervous system and gave his father’s blood bizarre new properties that Jack distilled into his mysterious serum. The artifact also granted Lorenzo incredible strength, resistance to almost all damage, and limited telekinesis. He is a psychopathic monster, hence the need for a contained cell within an abandoned old asylum. In any other place, at any other time, I would have automatically assumed Jack to be mad.

We fought through berserk raiders driven to extremes by the undiluted serum they’d stolen. In a sealed chamber in the basement stood Lorenzo, the defenses broken, just waiting for his strength to return so that he could get out. I couldn’t let that happen. Jack instructed me in what to do and we worked quickly to bring up what he called a zeta-field, though I may be misremembering, that would kill Lorenzo.

The man inside the comfortable cage spoke as I worked. “Think of what Jack told you. Who’s the crazy one?”

What benefit would there be to lying? If nothing Jack told me was true, then they would be the descendents of a long line who miraculously avoided any taint of radiation and have inexplicably locked their father down here. Why? Lorenzo provided no argument for his freedom, simply insisted on the absurdity of Jack’s words.

“Alien life, ancient artifacts, are these the stories of a sane man?”

I approached the glass. Behind it, Lorenzo Cabot stood dressed in a black suit with what looked like an elaborate crested helmet upon his head. “I’ve seen alien life, Mr. Cabot. However, one simple action from you will convince me to release you.”

“Name it.”

“Take off that helmet.”

He scowled, eyes full of intense rage, and I flipped the final switch. Lorenzo Cabot met his end. Jack assured me that if he had gained his freedom there would have been nothing to stop him. This is a world designed for monsters. With that, I had to agree.

Valentine touched my shoulder as we returned home, “Been awful quiet.”

“I suppose I was reflecting on the irony of helping a son destroy the monster his father had become.”

“Instead of the father destroying the monster of a son.”

I nodded, and managed a sardonic grin. “What’s done is done. I would have thought I’d have made peace with it by now.”

“Our pasts have ways of sticking around. Or they jump out at us when we least expect it. Heck, I still get flashes of the old Nick’s life. Guy sure spent a lot of time in sandwich joints.” I laughed, and he smiled. “Shame about that serum, though. Next best thing to you being a synth.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Well, if you were a synth, we could keep this going until Judgement Day. Though I guess maybe we already missed it…”

I was flattered. “Immortality isn’t something I ever considered. An eternity of trying to occupy myself? I’d be bored to death after the first century.”

He smirked, “Good point.”

We went our separate ways, he to the Agency as I returned home. Now it’s late, and I can’t stop thinking about it. I only hope I live long enough to see Shaun grow up, if he grows up. As tempting as an eternity with Valentine is…

I took some vials of serum from the Asylum, intending to study them. I need something to keep busy. I don’t have any idea how long it lasts or how often it needs to be taken, or if it can be replicated. If I wanted, I could ask Jack, but… well. This is all a matter to be considered more seriously at a later date. I have plenty of time as it is.


	25. Family

It has become customary for Valentine to come to my home every morning. Sometimes I am awake, sometimes not, but Codsworth always lets him in, offers him something to drink even though he knows it’ll be declined, and makes small talk. Valentine reads the paper or one of my ever growing collection of books and magazines I’ve found around the Commonwealth, talks with Codsworth, and plays with Dogmeat, until either Shaun or I wake up. If Shaun wakes up first, Valentine talks to him about school, answers all his questions about the city and world in general, and reacts with appropriate encouragement when Shaun shows off his latest gadget. If I wake up first, we talk until Shaun comes down, or until it’s time to wake him for school.

It was something of a shock the first time I came downstairs to find Valentine at my table in the same position I often sat when I was married, waiting for my wife to wake. I didn’t expect to feel anything beyond the usual friendly enjoyment of his company, but seeing him there, perfectly at home in such a picture of domesticity… was it surreal for him, I wonder? Does he have memories of doing the same, of a fiancee coming down the stairs? They wouldn’t be his memories, exactly, but they are there, nonetheless.

This morning, Shaun came downstairs for breakfast as Valentine and I were discussing the likelihood of the city council opening up elections for a new mayor and who would run if it happened. He said good morning, and Valentine asked him how things had been at school.

“Fine. Kind of boring,” was the ten-year old’s response, but then he said with more excitement, “Yesterday we talked about what we want to do when we grow up. That was fun.”

“What did you say?”

“I said I want to be a detective, just like my dad. Both my dads.”

Valentine’s eyes flickered as he froze, the cigarette in his hand halfway to the ashtray.

“Both?” I asked, bemused.

“I mean, you’re my dad, but Nick feels like family, too.”

“… well, I can’t argue with that. Regarding the future, there are a great many things you could do. You have a long time to decide.”

“Can I do lots of different things at the same time, like you?”

I smiled, “If you wanted, though I recommend choosing one or two.”

“Yeah, you’re really busy.”

“Does it bother you?”

“A little, but I know there are a lot of people who need your help. It feels good to know my dad is the one helping. When I’m big enough to go out on my own, I want to help people too. As long as you don’t forget me.”

I felt a light ache of guilt, “I could never forget you, Shaun. I know I’m away far too much, but I hope you know that I love you.” It now occurs to me that may have been the first time I’d actually told him so.

Valentine was functional again, the cigarette in the ashtray. His attention remained firmly focused on it as he said, “That goes for both of us, kid.”

Shaun smiled. “I love you, too. Oh, Nat said the printing press was making weird noises again, can I see if I can fix it after school today?”

I laughed. Valentine smirked, finally looking at Shaun, “You touch that old press without Piper’s permission and even we won’t be able to save you.”

“I can’t make it worse.”

“Probably true, but ask her first. Trust me.”

“As much as I am loathe to interrupt,” Codsworth gently said, “Master Shaun will be late if he doesn’t hurry.”

With a small groan, Shaun said, “Codsworth, it’s just down the street -”

“My internal clock hasn’t malfunctioned in over two hundred years, young man. If I say you are running late, you can count on it.”

Shaun sighed, “Yes, Codsworth. Bye, Dad, bye, Nick.” He hugged us both, and was gone.

Valentine leaned back in his chair. “I’ll be damned,” he breathed.

“He’s an observant child.” I glanced at Codsworth, who somehow managed to discreetly leave the room. I don’t give that robot nearly enough credit. “Did he trigger some sort of system restart earlier? Your eyes flickered and motor functions ceased.”

“Heh, maybe.” Valentine paced the room a moment, “Never felt so surprised. I’m not even -”

“Mr. Valentine, if you say ‘human’ or follow up with a comment on your mechanical nature, I will be horribly disappointed in you.”

He was irritated. “I know you think it doesn’t matter, but it’s still true. I’m metal parts, a personality stuck in an old machine. Having friends is one thing, but…”

I was stunned. How could I be so blind? All this time, I'd casually considered him to be family in my mind, without ever saying anything. I’d assumed it was obvious. I didn’t consider the horrible ability of self-consciousness and doubt to render certain truths invisible. I approached him, at a loss. “I don’t know what I can say to make you believe it.”

He sighed, sitting down on the sofa. “There’s not a doubt in my mind that we’re… well, that you’re the best damn thing that ever happened to me, but be honest, Holmes. I’m not human.”

“Neither is my son.”

He was taken aback, but frowned, “It’s different.”

“Why? Because your skeleton is metal? I couldn’t care less. Clearly, neither does Shaun. How can you doubt this?”

He was quiet a moment. “Maybe it’s the kid. After everything we’ve been through, you I can understand, but Shaun…” His next words were soft, “It scared the hell out of me the first time he held my hand.” He considered the bare fingers, slowly closing and opening the metal digits once. “You know, I think I meant it? When I said it goes for both of us.”

“I know you did.” I knelt down in front of him, “It’s a strange family I’ve found, but I wouldn’t trade them for the world.”

He smiled, just a little. “Family.”

“It’s true. More than that, there’s no one else I’d rather have by my side.”

“I’ll be here as long as you’ll have me.” I was amazed to see him shy, “I, uh. Guess this puts a new spin on calling you partner.”

I may have suffered a similar cognitive shutdown to what he had earlier. “If you like.” Then I grinned, “I am on one knee -”

“Get up, wise ass,” he chuckled. “We got work to do.”

I stood, unreasonably happy. I let Codsworth know we would be at the Agency. He asked if we would be seeing more of Mr. Valentine. I told him I didn’t know if the day to day routine would be affected, and all three of his eyes swiveled toward me. “Sir. That isn’t exactly what I meant.”

I smiled, a touch uncertain. “I believe so… what do you think, Codsworth?”

“Of Mr. Valentine?” He was shocked I’d asked. “Why, I can’t think of a more worthy addition to the family, sir! I was only asking because humans can make things, ah, more complicated than they need to be.”

“I’ll try not to,” I said, amused.

Our plans for the day were somewhat derailed by the sudden appearance of Travis Miles in the Agency, radio broadcasting gear in hand. Ellie has apparently seen fit to give the Valentine Detective Agency its own radio, so that she can send messages to its two detectives whenever something urgent comes up. We left them to the installation and occupied ourselves by helping out around town. Shaun came home after playing with Nat after school, disappointed that Piper hadn’t let him meddle with the printing press. I believe Nat is concocting a scheme for Shaun to try while Piper is out of town.

We haven’t talked about this morning. I don’t think either of us has been avoiding the subject, necessarily, it simply hasn’t come up. I’m not certain we truly need to talk. Custom dictates some sort of intense discussion of the future, our feelings, et cetera, but such would be a superfluous reaffirmation of what we already know. And yet I think of Shaun this morning, how simply stating the obvious seemed to help -

The Valentine Detective Agency Radio works. Ellie just summoned us, though why she did it with a radio instead of simply walking across the street is beyond me. Whatever the case is, it seems urgent.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up: Far Harbor. The plan is to post it all at once, a comparatively short Part 3 for the series before returning to the Commonwealth. Thank you so much to everyone for the kudos and comments, I cannot overstate how encouraging it is to know people are enjoying this.


End file.
